Before the Ice-Lorenzo

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
A group of ravenous murderers orchestrated by a Ram convene in a strip club for a bloody fight to the death...this sounds like fun.

Submitted: March 10, 2019

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Submitted: March 10, 2019

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Three little piggies busy counting sheep…ity bity tails slowly wagging free…puffy gray eyes tracking clouds of fluff…none the wiser towards the spider’s ire…

Dagger like fangs slice through supple flesh…of an innocent mother nurturing a gang of cleverly hidden youngsters…

Bones snap in the damp night air…tender rolls of tissue toil and bubble as it melts…the mother let out a terrible yowl…yet her companions couldn’t be bothered to raise a brow…as hairy mandibles continued carving out patches of bleeding flesh…the two closest to her could hardly distinguish the rotting stench…

Before the arachnid had its fill…it dragged the mother off far beyond the hill…as she screamed for the sweet relief of death…the others offered little in the way of eternal rest…

Two little piggies counting sheep…ity bity tails slowly wagging free…puffy gray eyes tracking clouds of fluff…the youngest none the wiser towards the spider’s ire…

 “Ey…bru…” Brutishly malevolent Beats belonging to a sadistic branch of techno thumped against the rims of industrial amplifiers. A sickening shade of red pulsated against his bleeding eyes. He felt a jagged knife drive into the base of his scalp only to be pushed down to the top of his chin. The sensation never dulled, only repeated itself whenever the chilling snare rapped against his eardrums once again.

“Bru!” A solid slap to the back of his unprotected skull had the same effect as a bucket of ice water to the genitals. Leaving the confines of the alien realm, Lorenzo awoke anew to see an HK New Millennium held askew between sweaty palms. Focusing on the tritium glow embedded within his aftermarket sights, he could tell the weapon was under a tremendous amount of conflicting pressure. The amalgamation of metal and plastic shook violently between overlapped fingers, yet he failed to feel his hands tremble.

His gaze drifted to the floor before drowsy eyelids jumped from the plates of bone they were protectively housed in. Bodies littered the floor like discarded beer cans and greasy pizza boxes on the lawn of a frat house. Crimson nutrient soaked into every conceivable fiber that interwove to create the angel white carpet of the brothel. Human organs and chunks of flesh splattered high-end furniture. Sleek designs contorting from the walls were soiled with human bile and intestinal viscera.

Taking a deep breath, the air once smelling of perspiration, alcohol, marijuana smoke and reproductive musk now reeked of iron and gaseous toxins. Once every few seconds, a strobe light would bathe his eyes in tantalizing teals, vivid violets, and blinding blues. After the colors had peeled themselves away from his face, he could catch microscopic particles of rot circulating within the air.

Synapses failed to properly digest the information being fed to it. The world around him had too much to process in too short a time. Wild eyes fixated on anything they could dissect in a bid to buy his internal processor precious seconds of psychological peace. Unfortunately, there was none to be had.

The carcasses of apex runway models were draped over love seats and recliners. Some had their teeth smashed in while others were the victims of eye gouging and vaginal mutilation. A particularly slender redheaded bombshell who would have been beautiful enough to stop his heart with a kiss had her lips and breasts torn from the rest of her shattered figure. The only evidence alluding to those organs belonging there in the first place was the jagged remains of tender flesh still dripping with fresh blood.

“Hey, heyeyey snap outav it. It’s the gas, that fucking gas! I told Marcus we should have invested in some fucking respirators! God damn it, if I get outta here alive, I’m gonna slice Rudyard’s cock clean off and make him choke on it.” The short-tempered South African pushed Lorenzo to take point. Grubby fingers dug into over tensed muscle fibers, forcing the rest of his body to comply with the mobster’s demands.

His consciousness tried with all its might to fight against the will of the shortly statured Afrikaner, but found it impossible to resist the power exhorted upon its weakened vessel.  A wrist sporting a golden Yankerton continued pushing the young marine past perilous corridors and daunting doorways, the other squeezing the grip of a compact pistol. Lorenzo had no mouth to project his rebuttals out of, but was more concentrated on trying to salvage what little of his brain matter he could. Straining to utilize what mental might he had left, it wasn’t nearly enough to restore the rest of his cognitive functions as they ceased to awaken. A cloud of artificial endorphins infiltrated his bloodstream, drowning most of his higher motor skills in a fog of confusion.

“You cannot leave me like this Lorenzo, I can’t fight em off all on my own. Flick da fuck outta it or we’re gonna end up kebabs!” Primal instincts sensed the urgency embedded within the shriveling waves of creeping hysteria, yet his mind wasn’t able to comprehend the profoundness of their predicament. Continuing to look over the carnage left behind by an invisible entity, his vision stopped cold when it crossed over the body of his longtime friend.

Hugh Mulver had barely begun to explore the rowdiness of his early twenties before his biological clock came to a screeching halt. Even in a club with thousands of people occupying the floor, Lorenzo could always spot the shaggy curls sprucing his friend’s head bounce with the beat amidst a sea of flesh seasoned with perspiration. It made no difference what kind of music he hopped along to. If there were elegant honey's, top-shelf liquor, and a table of illicit narcotics, he was always a happy boy.

That same boy he had treated as a brother now had his face buried in an anthill of cocaine. Puddles of bright red blood dissolved any residual powder caked to his face. A trail of viscera flowed down his neck and onto the floor. Walking ever closer to his corpse, Lorenzo held back a barrage of dry heaves when he noticed there were objects protruding from his skull. Designer champagne bottles were shattered at the openings and again in the mid-section. The now jagged ends that made up the mouthpieces were jammed into his forehead.

Lorenzo recoiled in disgust when he caught sight of the horror. Crimson liquid trickled between savage shards and onto the table. Bits of brain matter clumped around the bottle’s necks. It took every fiber of his will to not eject trace amounts of chyme still traveling through his large intestines when he bore witness to the other atrocities inflicted upon his friend before death.

A lead pipe bearing serrated teeth was shoved into his stomach. Scarps of mangled entrails could be seen slipping through gaps in the wound. Claw marks belonging to something rabid raked his back, exposing deep muscle fibers and white flakes of scoured bone. His hands were broken, fragmented bits of calcium slashed the many veins running down the back of his palms, turning them black. Rigor mortis froze his body in a prayer kneel, giving Lorenzo a deep set of chills that rattled every column of vertebra aligning his spine. The boy would speak to him whenever he was sober, always seeming to talk about religion and where he fit under the bigger picture. Eventually, he wanted to meet an honest woman and leave the life of debauchery behind for greener pastures. A tear welled in his eye when the dream he helped the young man nurture vanished without a trace.

“Ah fuck me man…nah, nah fuck this. Fucking fuck this! I am NOT dying like this. Y-you fucking hear me! You are not fucking getting me like this! I’m not just another piece of meat you can defile. Ya hear me you bag a cunts! C’mon, come outt here and fuck with me! I’ll fuckin blow all a you to bits!” Pushing Lorenzo further into darkness, the lights seemed to fade the farther they traveled. The music was beginning to rack his head with agony once more. Nothing made sense in his addled mind. The world around him consisted of perpetual darkness and alien light at the same time. He harbored no sense of fear for this terrifying world, yet there was a voice screaming from the back of his eyes, warning him of impending death.

Passing through an elongated hallway illuminated by the same streaks of light that haunted his dreams, Lorenzo could hear his captor gag before being overwhelmed with panic. Surveying what it was that made him so upset, he too went pale in the face when he saw the thighs of showgirls glisten with blood. Their torsos were impaled with varying objects, pinning the rest of their bodies to unforgiving drywall. It wasn’t the image that made him go numb. It was the fact that their legs were twitching a few feet off the ground.

Paying closer attention to their heads and necks, he could see some of the girls were still very much alive. The entity most commonly referred to as a soul forced their bodies to thrash against the walls of their respected corners. Women who looked young enough to be someone’s granddaughter shriveled in on themselves. Unadulterated terror soaked into their fragile meat, causing them to spasm and fling against the objects bounding them to the wall. Defunct arteries failed to encapsulate what little blood the women had left, leaving them to gurgle on their life fluid before succumbing to the darkness that surrounded them.

Despite being heavily intoxicated with an unknown substance, Lorenzo’s hairs began prickling. Like a row of dominos, one triggered the other until the back of his neck and arms were lined with fibrous spikes. Forcing his neck to obey his undying will to survive, he scanned left to right, wary of any movement crossing his path. It wasn’t the land that had changed before his very eyes, but rather, the ecosystem.

Shadows dashed from sight, cautiously avoiding the scorn of his vision. Unidentifiable creatures wreaked havoc on his already damaged mind. Shifting apparitions frolicked in the sanctity of his peripheral vision, suspending him in a fearful state of anticipation. Diverting more energy to his neck, he could feel his knees start to buckle under hundreds of pounds of dead weight, but it was necessary. His reflexes became more responsive, tracking more and more of the mysterious figures before they escaped his gaze.

They appeared to be human, or at least retain the form of his fellow homo sapiens, but had a gracefulness to them that seemed contradictory to a normal human’s gait. The figures became more apparent, their presence beckoning to be known. He caught sight of more and more of the beings only to grow more confused. High heels pattered the floors, not too far behind classic dress loafers and tennis shoes. Bedazzled dresses and slutty skirts fluttered in the artificial wind kicked up by the excess agility circulating the back room sex lounge he now occupied.

A sensation of weightlessness befell his weary muscles. He felt as if he could fall forwards and shatter his face at any moment. That was when he realized the helping hand of his companion turned slave driver was missing. He felt no external pressure resting on his shoulder, nor did he feel the force edging him forwards. Turning to look back, the man with the funny accent was gone. Lifeless bodies decorated the path leading back to where he had started. The exposing rays of unguided strobe lights birthed gut-wrenching scenes better left in the shadows.

A lump formed in the pit of Lorenzo’s esophagus when he could feel a set of eyes burn a hole in the back of his head. He hadn’t turned to face the pair just yet, but he could tell these weren’t the eyes of a human or any earthly creature for that matter. They left a trace of energy that froze his blood solid. Nothing could have exacted this much power without being extraterrestrial or paranormal, it just couldn’t be. The force beaming into the back of his head became so great, he found it impossible to twist his neck or move on his own free will.

Whatever held control of his head was a fan of the suspense. It let the residual terrors festering within the corridors of the backrooms molest his eye sockets with nightmarish visions. He tried to close his eyes, but they wouldn’t obey his command. He tried to look away, but found it futile to look anywhere but upon the epicenter of destruction. Something began slithering forth from the shadows, another alien presence that was only tangible by the effect it had on the air as it coiled its scaly body towards him.

The opportunity to gaze deep into the eternal serpent’s slits had been missed as Lorenzo’s neck painfully contorted back towards the eyes. Stressing his muscle fibers at the seams made him confident they would tear free from his bones at any second. He would have bled internally before what little light he had surrounding him faded into obscurity along with his consciousness. In hindsight, that would have been a blessing.

Bloodshot eyes peered deep into the empty sockets of a Ram’s skull. The acquisition felt as natural as gazing upon a pair of bombastic breasts. There was no resistance leading to the interlock, yet he could feel his inner being start to break down when he focused on the wisps of fleeting tendrils emanating from the dual abysses. The figure possessed the body of a man. Standing at around his height of a healthy six foot one, the creature wore a two-piece suit with the lower half buttoned. Jet black slacks went well with obsidian dress shoes. Aside from his tie, his entire attire was drenched with light crushing shades of black. The tie was a cherry red, reminding him of fresh blood being spilled in the cold.

The feeling of paranoia infected every pore on the surface of his skin. From the sensitive flesh beneath his fingernails to the corners of his corneas, there was a creeping presence that left a residual scent of evil in its invisible wake. He could feel the beast lather his face with a film of disgust before scuttling back to the safety of the mask. The longer he held his gaze over the polished calcium engraved with devilish markings, the faster he noticed the techno beat begin to fade. In its place were hushed whispers that spoke of terrible deeds. Their descriptions were tantalizing and effective. Awful images of mutilated children and half-eaten mothers bathing in a landscape of fire were branded to the rims of his pupils. His descent into madness would soon be complete.

From the sides of his peripheral vision, more masked figures began creeping into view. Many adorned the skulls of animals from his time period, ones he was familiar with. He spotted a frail little girl masking her face with the skull of an eagle. Ruby red high heels studded her feet. Knee high tube socks wrapped around her elegant calves before letting a slutty club skirt do the rest of the talking. She was bare from the bellybutton up, but her perky breasts offered little comfort to the marine. Through chance encounters with the light, he caught sight of painted fingers toying with Oriental daggers.

A young man he was quick to call a boy stepped a few inches out from her right. He took the simple approach and was dressed in nothing more than designer jeans and a graphic tee now ruined by a hearty helping of gore. His mask was also simple, being that of a common heifer. A serrated combat knife stuck out from his right hand, slicing the air wherever he waved it. The dynamic was simple enough, but that was before more of Ram’s henchmen started funneling through the many corridors.

A woman strode into view with modern day tennis shoes and skin-tight leggings. Her upper body was bathed in blood. She believed it to be the only type of protection she needed. Much of her face was hidden behind the overgrown tusks of the wild hog placed upon her head, but golden yellow locks seemed to find a way through. A studded Billy club wavered by her knees, the soft leather band wrapped around her right wrist.

There were a few masks that sent a jolt of unadulterated fear into the center of his heart. A slender woman with impressive forearms wore the skull of a short-faced bear, an animal that had died out before the end of the last ice age. A checkered dress shirt flapped haphazardly in the open air. Hints of her budding breasts could be seen popping free from the garment, but that only made him more uncomfortable. A Karambit as sleek as her voluptuous thighs was busily spinning around the tip of her pointer finger as she treaded over the dead, eyes locked with the lone wolf.

A man twice his size took strides until he was a few feet from Ram head. His face was hidden under a black balaclava. If it weren’t for the layer of cloth concealing his identity, Lorenzo would be able to see his features past the teeth of the saber tooth’s incisors. The prehistoric cat’s skull was gleaming, as if it had never known the curse of age. Suspender straps were hoisted over muscular shoulders in a bid to uphold burly slacks raking his ankles. A white button up a few sizes too small did what it could to keep back the wall of muscle waiting to burst free from its restraints. An unusually large butterfly knife hung at his waist, the coated metal cracking relentlessly as he flicked it to and fro under the anticipation of bloodshed.

A woman with an elegant gait strutted her way into view. On her head was the oversized skull of a Dunkleosteus. The predatory shape of the killer fish hung low over her actual head. The tale-tell saber-like teeth acted as a gate to its massive maw. What truly got under Lorenzo’s skin however was the condition of the skull. It was pearly white, like the fish it had belonged to was filleted just a few hours prior. The condition of the skull looked remarkable considering it belonged to a creature that went extinct three hundred and eighty million years ago. A golden Wakizashi with diamonds encrusted into the handle swayed like the trunk of an elephant near and between her legs.

A man in checkered slacks and sapphire blue dress shoes pranced upon the meet-n-greet with a fire axe hanging over his shoulders. Blood dried to a crust over his exposed pectoral muscles and flexing abdomen. Enlarged hands straddled the rubber handle of the weapon as they focused on Lorenzo, eyes keenly sniffing out any weaknesses the marine presented. It was only fitting. The skull he wore belonged to Epicyon, an extinct canine known for its bone-crushing bite.

Each person held him in their eyes and treated him like prey rather than a threat. While the pistol he had still occupied his right hand, the knowledge needed to wield it was gone. Forming a half circle of death, each of the killers eyed him like starving dogs. Everyone was more than eager to cut a literal piece out from Lorenzo, and there was little he could do to stop them. On a good day, he could have killed a few of them and given the rest a long recovery time. That would be if he didn’t have the pistol.

But in the state he was in, he was hardly qualified enough to show someone how to count to five. The predators of today understood this, but would do their best to make the kill as enjoyable and prolonged as possible. If everything went well, he would die of blood loss and exhaustion after feeling every pain imaginable. He could feel the disdain from every one of their eyes burn craters into his fear soaked flesh. Confused as to what he did to earn him such animosity, he restored his gaze with Ram head to see reddish horns sprouting from either side of his head start to grow and curl in on themselves further.

The voices were back and more commanding than ever. Instead of painting pictures of hell, they commanded he relinquish his weapon and walk towards the ring leader with open arms. Perverted howls emanating from a creature who had little knowledge of how to speak in an audible pitch described how they would open his chest, break his ribs, feast upon his organs, carefully slice and dice sections of his lungs, castrate him and playfully chew on his testicles, tear out his heart and finally, scalp him before breaking open his cranium and gorging themselves on brain matter.

Every word the demon spoke was terribly hard to endure, especially when it mentioned how he would be alive to feel everything. Yet, his heart and mind sought out no other solutions other than compliance. He refused to give in to their demands, but saw little in the way of contingency. There was no hope in fighting back when the being still executed control over every limb and every muscle group. Lorenzo accepted it was over when he could feel his kneecaps bend and his feet start shuffling forwards.

Coming from the left, a man dressed as a Russian paratrooper blocked his view of Ram head. Crinkles in his waterproof jacket crackled when the man bent down to retrieve something from his harness. Happening faster than a bolt of lightning striking the earth, Lorenzo had no time to see the mysterious figure drive the business end of a syringe through his sternum and into his heart.

In an instant, the walls around him began streaking down a black backdrop like molten metal. Losing himself in the polished glass of the stranger’s gas mask, Lorenzo strained his throat as he screamed bloody Mary, yet no noise was able to slip free. His face was contorted into differing folds of pain. Eyes flooded with shock were close to erupting from their sockets. Teeth were in danger of shattering as the force he applied to his bite was more than a human should have been capable of. His body went stiff as his mind ricocheted off the walls of his skull like a pinball.

His mouth opened as wide as his jaw could stretch to let out a blood-curdling wail, but once again, his larynx refused to cooperate. He could feel the veins in his neck pulsating out of his skin, many of them close to rupturing. A sharp and unforgiving chill ran from his scalp down to his toes, causing him to convulse and flutter between life and death.

“Do not make me regret this. You are one of the chosen. Little one, you will lead your species out of this darkness and into a newfound light. Escape our grasp and shape your own reality. When time is right, I will be seeing you. Again, do not disappoint me.” Walking off just as suddenly as he appeared, Lorenzo’s body went limp when the Russian yanked the needle from his heart.

Gasping for air like a fish out of water, he slapped at the ground and thrashed about. Bouts of violent coughing spasms launched phlegm and fresh blood from the bottom of his lungs. Reeling back in pain, he almost fainted when he felts his skin being lifted from his flesh. In less than ten seconds after a lethal amount of ketamine and adrenaline was administered directly into his bloodstream, Lorenzo hopped to his feet as spry as he was on the morning of his twentieth birthday.

He felt his muscles tear and repair themselves as they inflated to twice their normal size. His vision narrowed to that of an Arabian Hawk. All five of his senses were enhanced to a level he only felt under the fog of suppressive fire. The nerves on his fingers and hands counted every stipple dotting the grip of his pistol. Acute muscle fibers in his wrists knew exactly how to hold the pistol in anticipation of the recoil for maximum performance. His breathing became shallow yet stronger than if he were gulping full breaths of air. The blood rushing between arterial highways was pumped at the speed of sound as he felt his heart rate increase tenfold. Pressing his hand against his chest, he could feel his engine block of muscle thump back seven times a second. 

The voices of the damned faded from earshot, but the droning beat from the club’s sound system continually spiked in volume before it was all he could hear. His tormenters looked at him perplexed, but remained unchanged. That was until Ram head got a good look at the boy with newfound vigor. The demon appeared angered. The veins on his hands were grotesquely visible as balled up fists shook with uncontainable rage. His skull was now hung low, his shoulders adopting an aggressive posture.

The woman with the Short-faced bear skull noticed a change in her master’s behavior. Nuzzling her face against his shoulder, she learned all she needed to know. A hateful glare was casted upon the man, something that seemed to spread throughout the rest of the group.

Without warning, Ram head exited to Lorenzo’s right. A doorway previously unseen ushered him to a new realm of reality before closing shut. Eyeing the outline of the doorway, Lorenzo kept it in mind as a possible means of escape. But that would have to be after he dealt with the band of freaks congregating in front of him.

They had undergone a change in their body language. What he once sensed as playful posture and an overall relaxed outlook dissolved into something much more serious. Each member lowered their shoulders and gripped their weapons tight. A few skulked to his right and left, testing his defenses by seeing how far he would let them through. Instincts drove his arm to steady the pistol between the jaws of the Sabertooth before the man got too far to the right. He did the same for Hog face not long after. Aftermarket sights held fast between her streamlined breasts, defensive ammo ready to eviscerate the woman’s cardiovascular organs at the flick of a finger.

“We are their disciples…There is no stopping us. As clandestine children of the darkness, we roam not with hearts palpating recklessly with fear, but with ones that beat humbly. All will suffer under our reign in the name of Vjalkeroth. You will be no different. Bow, behold their messengers as an arm of their divine greatness, and submit to your fate.” The Short Faced Bear spoke with a prophetic tone. Something was hard at work altering her voice to a level that made it unstable.

“Fuck you and the cock you rode in on. I count six freaks with melee weapons and goofy looking masks. I have sixty rounds of heart stopping ten millimeter. If I divvy that up just right, that’s ten a piece. C’mon! Who wants the first bite?” transitioning the handgun from Hog face to Bear lady, he kept the gun held dead at her throat while weighing his options. Normally, he would come to the conclusion that he was, by all definitions of the word, fucked. Psychopaths with gruesome weaponry hung low to his right and left, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. The other four began closing in on him while remaining cautious not to trigger an attack response.

“Do it. Pull the trigger. I implore you to see how feeble your human defenses are towards us. We are the apex, the bloody hand of their rule. There is nothing you can do to stop this wave of suffering. Believe me when I say this is just the begi-.” She was interrupted by a lead slug speeding through the air at a thousand feet per second. Hardened polymer lacerated the layer of bone making up the animal’s jaw. Jacketed lead carried through unscathed. Finding her windpipe with little effort, the column of bone and cartilage was enough to open the round to its full potential. Metallic pedals sprouted from the impact, slicing through arteries, burning flesh black, and sending fragments of bone into her now destroyed windpipe.

Topping the cake of carnage with a bloody cherry, the force of the round was enough to snap her neck. An egregious pop acted as her death bell as the woman slumped to the floor faster than she could have done while still breathing. Internal pressure launched spurts of blood twenty feet across the room while more of it sprayed across her body like a ruptured pipe. The skull of a once proud predator lay shattered upon her chest, the blood of her vessel staining it with defeat.

Before the slide of his handgun could cycle a fresh round into the chamber, the two on his right or left had pounced. He knew one of them would get to have a chunk out of him, but lightning fast thinking prioritized which one he would rather endure. Deciding with a few nanoseconds to spare, he drove his elbow into Hog face. Raising his left arm to block the momentum of her strike, he simultaneously pressed the muzzle between her breasts and sent three rounds to excavate her cardiovascular cavity.

A flash of agony slapped him silly when the blade of the cat’s balisong punctured his intestines. Before he could rake it across his gut for a fatal blow, Lorenzo delivered a debilitating elbow strike. Feeling the ball of his elbow crater into the bottom of the maniac’s throat, his brain flooded with dopamine when he felt the blade slip free from his side. Not forgetting the woman bracing against his forearm, he looked down to see a blood and bone fused crater bubbling in the center of her chest. However, that wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Bringing her back from the wall she was pinned against, he raised the skull lining her head and bashed the front end of his gat into her windpipe. Dropping her cudgel to grip her neck with tiny hands, he knew she wasn’t long for this world. That did nothing to soothe his anger as he jammed the muzzle of his handgun into the Hog’s eye socket and pulled the trigger. A fantastical explosion of fractured bone and brain matter splattered the wall behind her.

Twisting around to finish what he had started, he found Saber tooth sprinting behind pillars for cover. Tracking his movements better than a machine, Lorenzo sent five rounds spiraling towards his foe. Each struck metal and wood, ending up a few pubic hairs short from vital organs.

Realizing he would have to finish off the cat another time, he turned his attention towards the front of the room only to see Dog man bring the splitting end of his axe down upon his head. Superhuman reflexes pushed Lorenzo a few feet away from the head of sharpened metal. Blurry hands moved faster than his eyes could track. Two rounds penetrated Dog man’s right thigh and bicep. Howling in perpetual pain, he shook off the damage and charged the marine. Suffocating Lorenzo with his presence, Dog man kept him busy with dodging viper like axe swipes. Unable to find the window to fire off the remaining rounds in his magazine, Lorenzo adopted the mindset of a desperate man and waited for another swipe.

Just as the blade’s edge sliced the fabric of his shirt, Lorenzo closed the remaining inches of space and stomped on his left foot. Crushing the bones keeping him upright, Dog man wobbled back in shock. Not willing to let his prey wander far, Lorenzo closed in once more and pressed his pistol against the man’s thigh, planning to open the wound further. He was shoved back by the handle of the axe before his fingers received the signal to pull the trigger.

Converting the energy from the shove into a tuck and roll maneuver, Lorenzo obtained enough space to give him a precious second of uninterrupted fire. It wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped for, however. The man had his axe raised at the same time Lorenzo lowered his sights upon his chest. Hurling the axe with the force of a bodybuilder, Lorenzo jerked to his left. A beefy thud sent a wave of tingles through his blood. Looking back, the axe had become lodged into one of the pillars he was standing in front of moments ago.

Cranking his vision back to Dogman, he was just in time to see Cowboy take flight in a bid to close the gap before he could recover. Four gunshots in rapid succession informed the boy on how bad an idea that was. Two of his rounds struck the right side of his chest while a third clipped his stomach. Rolling to the ground a bloody mess, the overwhelming techno beat was just enough to drown out the adolescent’s deathly yowling.

Disregarding the young boy’s wallowing cries, he settled his sights once more on Dog man’s heart. The murderer stood there without any rhyme or reason. Not wanting to push his luck, Lorenzo squeezed the trigger only to inspect the pistol when it didn’t fire. Empty.

Cursing aloud, he ejected the spent magazine and fished for a new one. Not long after the hunk of plastic rattled against the floor, Lorenzo spotted the unmistakable shimmer of ruby red high heels stride towards his vulnerable self. Fiddling with the stack of plastic and metal, he shoved the magazine into an impatient weapon and locked the slide with the flick of his thumb. A few lightning fast jabs reminded him he didn’t do it fast enough. Slender blades stuck him in the chest, left arm, right hand, and dangerously close to his gonads.

Kicking her in the kneecap did nothing as she skillfully evaded his kick and retaliated by sending the tip of her dagger through his waist. Screaming in shock, his mind floundered, struggling to understand what just happened. Another dagger jab dug into the top of his chest, only this time, she had every intent to scrape it along his bones before severing his jugular. Catching her arm in his palm mid-sweep, he sent the tip of his shoe drilling into her feminine cavern.

Folding her body in on her vagina, he followed the steps needed for a fatal takedown. Ferocious fingers gripped around her forearm and yanked it from his flesh. Keeping hold, his other arm bent to encapsulate her elbow before thrusting his body into her arm in the direction it wasn’t supposed to bend. A horrific snap was followed by an earsplitting cry emanating from behind the mask. Shrill and full of panic, he could tell the young woman wasn’t prepared to die tonight.

Transitioning his right arm back down, he held the pistol at her torso before unleashing four rounds into her intestines. Proving more than enough to make her stumble, she grabbed at leaky entrails before vomiting a puddle of blood and bile onto her stylish kicks. Jamming the pistol under her chin, a shower of blood and gray confetti sprinkled all who were caught within a ten-foot radius as the bullet exited her brain by fracturing her scalp. The boy’s screams grew quiet, but still audible.

A familiar pain spiked his heart rate to dangerous levels when Lorenzo felt the blade of a butterfly knife grind against his shoulder blade. Throwing another elbow, the cat was quick to catch on as he deflected it and kicked at the back of Lorenzo’s leg. Robbing him of feeling in his left leg, Lorenzo dropped to his knees. In a fit too fast to discern one action from the other, Sabertooth lifted his blade from the flesh of Lorenzo’s shoulder only to bash him in the temple with the handle.

The implosions of floating stars occupied his dying vision as he fell to the floor. While stunned, he was still aware of the danger he was in. Coarse hands grabbed at his ankles, powerful legs pressed down on his feet to keep them in place. Not needing an explanation on what was going to happen next, Lorenzo opted to angle his pistol as best he could and fire off six rounds behind him all. Spooking Sabertooth off his Achilles' tendons, Lorenzo rolled to his back and sat up from the floor to encompass Sabertooth in his sights once again.

A sudden force of unknown energy pushed him forwards. Sharp spikes of pain vibrated down his spine as he was unsure what had thrown his aim off. That was until he looked down at his wrist to see the blade of a golden Wakizashi inches from an artery. Following the track of shimmering steel all the way to his right pectoral, the sword had made it all the way through. Blood pooled near the base of the blade, but remained absent down the rest of it.

The huff of a woman under stress sounded off behind him as Fish head pulled the sword back towards her. Her thrust felt like the focused fury of a hurricane pushing against his body, but that didn’t make the wound any easier to deal with. Gripping at his chest the moment the blade had vacated his chest, hot blood started to flow down restless fingers. Feeling what was coming next, he looked up at Sabertooth who held an instructive hand to halt. Not half a second after seeing that did Lorenzo feel the blade of warm steel rest against his jugular. His pulse thumped against the metal, yet the wielder resisted her primal urge for bloodshed.

Lorenzo continued to grip at his wound. Projecting blood from his cough, he soiled his lap in crimson and saliva. Trembling in his skin, uncontrollable shakes rattled his body like the heaving mass of an upset newborn. His mind struggled to comprehend what was transpiring before it. Quivering lips shook in fright as bunny wide eyes traced the outline of their slayer marching ever closer.

Chuckling with cynicism, Lorenzo sensed the cockiness behind the cat’s laugh. Closing in even further, he angled himself in a manner that presented the other side of his neck. Blood vessels stretched from the skin, begging to be sliced. Just as Sabertooth made it within smelling distance, Lorenzo pounced from his façade.

Counting his lucky stars the woman who held his life in the balance didn’t notice his pistol butting up against her big toe, Lorenzo fired a shot that decimated her right foot. Hobbling back a few feet, she rolled to the floor, Wakizashi no longer being pressed against his breathing tube. Before Sabertooth realized the ploy, Lorenzo sent two rounds at his throat. Speeding lead tipped with flesh-eating plastic lacerated any trace of his trachea or esophagus from reality. Grabbing hold of the melon-sized gash now leaking a quart of blood every minute, Saber tooth’s lifeless body crash-landed against soft carpet.

Turning back to the woman who had made him a kebab, Lorenzo fired off two more shots before the slide locked back once again. Fish head jumped from the ground, her left boob narrowly missing the destruction carried by both rounds. Rearing back to his feet at the same time she sloshed her body towards his, the next magazine was easier to find. Sending the slide back into working order, Fishhead could do nothing but sport an awkward gape as seven rounds chipped away at her bony headpiece and into her flesh. Defensive rounds punched fist-sized holes in the back of her head, splattering her final thoughts against a pornographic painting.

Lorenzo had little time to breathe as Dog man blindsided him. Sending the pistol flying from his hands, Lorenzo was quick to counter and threw a hard left jab into his ear. That did little to soften the explosive slam caused by him ramming the wall at what felt like light speed. Vicious elbows dug into the chest of Lorenzo, causing more blood to spurt from his open wound. The marine paid little mind to his injuries as he sent a devastating punch to the man’s ribcage. Recoiling back from the pain of fractured ribs, Dog man howled in anger and went in for the kill.

Grabbing Lorenzo by the shoulders, he head-butted him twice. The first blow broke his nose while the next shattered his cheekbone. Lorenzo threw a hard right knee to his fractured ribs, causing him to double over in pain. That wasn’t enough to keep the punishment away. The man answered back with a solid uppercut to Lorenzo’s diaphragm. As if he were thrown into the vacuous realm of deep space, air refused to fill his lungs.

Struggling against the invisible force depriving him of oxygen, Dog man threw Lorenzo across the room. Rolling a few feet after initial touchdown, Lorenzo’s body thudded against the pillar the axe was lodged in. Before he could gauge the situation, he felt specs of wood shower his head. Dogman was pulling with all his weakened might for his weapon. The room before him began to spin. Blood clouded his vision. The music now turned into something demonically distorted. It was all nonsensical, but he chalked it up to the symptoms following certain death. A few quick kicks to Dog man’s right ankle cemented the fact that he wasn’t dead yet. Snapping it at the heel, the lumbering giant fell to earth a screaming heap. Quick to scurry on top of him, Lorenzo ripped the skull of the canine from his head and began bashing his features to a pulp. Right hooks made short work of his cheeks and nose. Savage haymakers clotted his eyes with blood and ground his lips against fragmented pieces of teeth.

When he could feel his hands as nothing more than jellified mitts, Lorenzo stood up and grabbed his opponent by the hair. Bracing his feet to the ground, he drove Dog man’s head into the back of the axe head. With each thrust holding more force than the last, it took a total of seven thrusts before his face was reduced to a bubbling pulp effectively severed at the mouth.  Labored breaths plagued his body as his heart recovered to a normal pace. Looking down, his club shirt was drenched with blood. Thousand dollar pants hugging his legs were nothing more than hemoglobin soaked rags chilling him to the bone. He struggled to breathe in a rhythm that didn’t represent hyperventilation. Neurotransmissions were shot to high hell as he could barely find the coordination to grip his pistol with any kind of stability. Smoking metal wavered in his palm as he stood from a pool of blood and walked towards the club entrance. He turned to his right to see the door Ram head had used to escape only to see a solid wall lie in its wake. Soft and feeble moans rung out to his left, its owner calling for an end to the suffering. Looking past the shadows of the back room where the corpse of Fish head fermented, he looked down to see the young boy once wearing the skull of the cow naked in the face, body frozen to the floor. Blood seeped from previously inflicted wounds, leaving his limbs unable to function.

There were so many questions Lorenzo wanted to ask. Was this connected to the hospital? Were there more of them wandering the earth, prepared to do the dark one’s bidding at a moment’s notice? Why did the voices lead them here, what was the purpose?

His chance to seek further knowledge was squandered as the New Millennium barked a final time, drilling a hunk of lead between the boy’s eyes.


© Copyright 2020 jrc1991. All rights reserved.

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