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Modern Day Devils P7
By Snake - Mark
He was running now, down through the empty streets of Rocky Point. His mind registered something had gone wrong a few moments earlier, and for some reason he felt that it pertained to him. So he ran.
The road he made his way down (25A, the only main road running through Rocky Point and Miller Place) was completely empty. Not a car, street walker, or late night teenager in site; but Mark knew it wasn’t empty. Those Demons were still around. He could feel them.
Mark turned down a side road, running faster than he ever thought he could, towards the point of urgency. He kept his eyes straight, instead of performing the usual head swipes people do when they don’t know where they are going. He knew where he was going. He knew exactly where he would stop, which house he would enter, and who he would see lying on the ground. It was almost as if he had some sort of ESP; but if that were true he’d be able to see a lot more than just this one scenario.
Without even thinking, Mark turned down a driveway and ran up to the front door. He knocked, unsure of why he did. When there was no answer, which he had known would happen beforehand, he kicked at the door just below the handle. The door burst open, crashing against the wall that the hinges were attached to. I don’t even know my own damn strength anymore. Mark pressed on into the house, looking to his left and ride as he did.
To his left, a stairwell moved to the basement of his house. To his right, a kitchen, a dull black and white tiling covered the floor. Right in front of Mark was a small hallway, which gave way to a large living room. A couch lined the far wall from where he stood. As of yet, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but a feeling of unease brushed over the teenager.
He proceeded through the hallway slowly, as he made it halfway down he grew more and more uncomfortable. Mark brought his hand behind his back, to just above his head, and made a fist, as if grabbing something. A quick flash of light burst in his hand, and the air that the fist was clenched around was replaced with the thickness and hardness of the handle of a sword. Bringing the sword in front of him, he entered the living room cautiously.
There were two large bloodstains, and several small streaks, running along the carpeted floor. One bloodstain was nearer to the couch, while the other stained the carpet by a small coffee table. Mark’s eyes followed the streams of blood until they abruptly disappeared. It looked almost as if the bodies were simply absorbed into the floor. Kneeling down beside the streams end, Mark reached out for the edge of the carpet. As he was about to pull the carpet back, some instinct deep down inside brought him to push himself onto his back and hold his sword parallel to his chest.
There was a metallic clang before Mark’s sword began to inch towards his face. With one forceful push, the weight on his sword was lifted. Mark pushed his legs up into the air and used his free hand to lift himself into a handstand, which he quickly got out of by letting his feet drop down to the ground. He stood up tall, his sword poised in front of him, the tip pointing toward the ceiling diagonally. With a high awareness, Mark’s eyes moved back and forth through the room, but he saw nothing. His heart started to pound rapidly and his thoughts were erased from his head. Where his thoughts once were was now replaced with a low resonating hum. He moved forward slowly towards the coffee table, and as he walked the hum grew louder inside his mind. Mark nodded, as if the hum was telling him something.
As quick as he could, Mark swung the sword through the air, piercing the empty nothingness. Following the swoosh of the steel was a thud that caused the floor to vibrate slightly. Mark’s eyes followed the floor in front of him until he came to a spot where three floorboards were cracked and bent inwards. A smile crossed his dry lips as his eyes squinted slightly.
The teen poised himself, one foot placed behind him as if getting ready to run for a marathon and the other foot on the floor beneath his left shoulder. His hand rested gently against the flat of the sword as he brought it up and aimed the tip in front of him. He closed his eye and let the humming (which he now seemed to be able to translate) guide him through his next moves.
His first thrust struck nothing, and he hadn’t enough time to get in a second swipe before he ducked towards the ground, the edge of the sword dragging along the wood. He continued to drag it along the wood until he brought it up into a lethal uppercut. The sword tapped the ceiling gently before it was brought back down, slicing through the air diagonally. The blade kicked back slightly as it hit something of the same make. A spark shot through the air after the impact, Mark barely watching it as it disappeared during its decent.
As if instinct were taking over, Mark’s sword was lifted in front of him. This entire fight, so far, had seemed as if it were being fought by someone else; as if someone were swinging Mark’s sword for him. Mark ignored the feeling when an invisible blade struck his own, knocking his back foot off balance.
Regaining his posture, Mark quick spun toward the hallway wall, his right arm lifting and then entangling itself with something thick. His arm spun with him, sending whatever he grabbed a hold of into the wall. On impact with the invisible object, the wall nearly exploded. As Mark finished his smooth spin, he brought the sword around in his left hand, flicked his wrist, and let go of the blades handle. The tip of the sword swung through the air as an axe would in an axe throwing contest. The sword spun through the air (pushing through the dust particles the impact with the wall had caused) until it seemed to stop in the middle of the hallway.
Mark stood motionless for a moments pass, listening for any sounds from his invisible opponent. When neither the blade was moved, nor a sound was made, the Demon-teen made his move, grasping his blades handle and pulling it from the translucent flesh it had pierced. Using the base of his shirt, he wiped the edge of the sword clean, figuring there had to be something on it, invisible or not.
Seconds passed since the blade was removed before a figure began to form within the break in the wall. The figure was bulk, muscles protruding from every inch of its body. Mark’s eyes moved up and down the departed Demon, taking in the minor details. A thick blood poured onto the ground from where the blade had pierced its skin. There were no wings on this mischievous sprite, or if there were, then they were folded up perfectly against the red, coarse skin. Mark approached the Demon and turned it onto its back. The things face looked as if it were taken from a movie or video game. Two yellow cat-like eyes stared up at the teenager, a look of failure painted across them. The mouth was full of jagged, crooked teeth, all stained with a dark red, most probably blood.
Kneeling down, Mark took the Demon’s head in both his hands, each hand pressed hard against the beast’s cheek. “What have you done with the bodies?” His voice drifted off, and since he knew there would be know answer, he twisted his hands, a loud crunch emitting from the Demon’s neck. Mark smiled, as if breaking its neck were punishment for wasting his time.
4/21/2003 1:46:10 AM
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