- Feb 7, 2016
- 25
- 17
- 38
- Gender
- Male
- Faith
- Pentecostal
- Marital Status
- Single
* Ideally I'd like to see this become a graphic novel, though I haven't yet decided upon a solid cast of characters. Also, I realize the concept of angelic possession may be a bit heretical to some, as theologically I'm sure most would agree (myself included)that the Holy Spirit is what will bestow such superhuman abilities on us mortals as the End Harvest nears fruition. Still, writing this (especially the "Fatality" moment) gave me that warm, electric tingle that my spirit knows is the Holy Spirit responding. So, here ya go
*
Cold fog blows through an abandoned parking lot near the edge of Bayview district, and the full moon glitters off thousands of pieces of glass strewn about. Two lone, rusted vehicles are the only objects around, along with an old warehouse, sagging heavy under the weight of years of decay.
I stand motionless in the lot, waiting for the unholy prey that I stalk, demons who have twisted the forms of humanity into hideous caricatures of evil. The world has always harbored such things since the Fall, yet more and more the human race is beginning to realize that forces beyond the physical are not only here, but are actively working to topple our race into utter oblivion. The last year has seen a massive increase in sightings and reports of "monsters", "demons", "spirits" and "angels" all across the planet. Many of the world's religions say the End Times dawn.
All I know is last night in the City a little girl and her family were viciously murdered in the Mission, mutilated almost past the point of recognition. Police say it's the work of a serial killer, though neighbors reported inhuman sounds during the event, and an old homeless man swore to seeing three "creatures" leap from building to building after the fact.
To my knowledge I am the only Angelhost in the City, maybe even in the Bay Area. I don't know why the angel came to me months ago, why it chose to offer me the chance to fight, or even why I accepted. All I know is right now a little girl and her family cry out for justice, and I'm the only one who can give it to them. There is a tingle of energy that runs from my spine to my brain, and I hear the angel, bound within my essence, speak: "They are here"
My nose picks up an ugly smell, like dead meat mingled with an acrid, sulfurous odor. And then four shapes crash through broken windows from the warehouse, landing with heavy, meaty thuds upon the ground. We stand around fifty feet away from each other, and the fog drifts away to reveal true nightmares in flesh.
The angel told me that demons have a penultimate power above possession, the ability to not only dominate a mortal mind, but also to twist the body into an image more suitable for a fiend. Now I see how true the angel was. They stand around seven feet tall, though the one behind the three must be close to ten. Their skin is pitch black, slick with blood and excrement from their victims, and hideous symbols trace themselves around their bodies like sickly green tattoos. All ropy muscle, clad in spines and bone armor, their faces are fanged and skull-like, skin stretched painfully thin. Their saliva drips copiously onto the ground, hissing and bubbling as it meets the asphalt.
The one behind the three, the leader, is even more muscled, an ogre-like creature that snorts in amusement as I don my fighting gloves, made of lion skin and adorned with sacred stones: a gift from the angel. The demon speaks in a voice like thick tar: "How fortunate you've found us, my brothers and I grow famished. Tell me little human, how would you like to die?"
The angel's rage and disgust mirror my own, and I feel the energy pulse through my body into the gloves, feel my heart beat alongside the force of an entity who aided in the Creation of All. I have no words for such abominations, so I raise my hands into a fighting stance and wait, as cold air blows against my skin.
Their laughter is like metal twisting and breaking, and yet they hold their ground for a moment as the stones on my gloves begin to glow bright. But only a moment.
One launches itself at me faster then a human eye can follow, but I'm no longer mortal. I feel the energy within me coalesce into the gloves, a warm and invigorating feeling, and I send it out with one punch that erupts like a cannon. There's a sound like thunder as the force of Spirit blasts the creatures body to ash, leaving a charred skeleton at my feet still moist with bits of skin.
No laughter now, only silence broken by a ships's horn in the far off distance. My voice and the angel's are one: "Let us show you what true strength is"
The other two move in just as quickly, screaming loud enough to wake the dead. The old me would have died of fear under such an assault; now I only feel righteous fury coursing through me like molten lava.
I meet one head on, striking with such power that it's face bursts in a searing spray of demonic fluid. It's partner gets an opportunity to grapple me, and manages to hold me in place as it's fangs rip into my shoulder. It isn't the pain that causes me to tear free, but the thought of that family, unjustly brutalized in the name of demonic sport. Before it can grab me again, I lash out with a series of lightning fast jabs, each one driving the thing to its knees. I grab it's arms, long and muscled, and with one mighty pull I rip it's limbs off and cast them into the darkness. I can feel the angel's smile as the creature wails it's anguish into the night.
I turn to face my last opponent, but it's quicker then I predicted, and I'm met with a clawed foot to the chest that sends me flying back, impacting into one of the broken down vehicles with a mangled sound of crunching metal. The ogre-demon bellows loud enough to shake the ground, but I answer back with a roar like a thunderous lion and smile at the look of confusion on its monstrous countenance as I race toward it with inhuman speed.
The angel and I proclaim as one as I leap into the air, falling like a comet, hands billowing with the Spirit of Creation and Light:
"The wicked learn Fear!!!"
My blow sends shockwaves for several blocks, and completely annihilates my foe; nothing remains save a blackened crater and a smell like burnt tar.
My wounds are already knitting, ravaged skin closes, and burnt flesh becomes smooth and unsullied. I hear sirens far, far away and so I begin to leave. I have a feeling that things will become worse and worse. And yet I can't wipe this grin off my face, because Evil now knows this City has a guardian.
*Cold fog blows through an abandoned parking lot near the edge of Bayview district, and the full moon glitters off thousands of pieces of glass strewn about. Two lone, rusted vehicles are the only objects around, along with an old warehouse, sagging heavy under the weight of years of decay.
I stand motionless in the lot, waiting for the unholy prey that I stalk, demons who have twisted the forms of humanity into hideous caricatures of evil. The world has always harbored such things since the Fall, yet more and more the human race is beginning to realize that forces beyond the physical are not only here, but are actively working to topple our race into utter oblivion. The last year has seen a massive increase in sightings and reports of "monsters", "demons", "spirits" and "angels" all across the planet. Many of the world's religions say the End Times dawn.
All I know is last night in the City a little girl and her family were viciously murdered in the Mission, mutilated almost past the point of recognition. Police say it's the work of a serial killer, though neighbors reported inhuman sounds during the event, and an old homeless man swore to seeing three "creatures" leap from building to building after the fact.
To my knowledge I am the only Angelhost in the City, maybe even in the Bay Area. I don't know why the angel came to me months ago, why it chose to offer me the chance to fight, or even why I accepted. All I know is right now a little girl and her family cry out for justice, and I'm the only one who can give it to them. There is a tingle of energy that runs from my spine to my brain, and I hear the angel, bound within my essence, speak: "They are here"
My nose picks up an ugly smell, like dead meat mingled with an acrid, sulfurous odor. And then four shapes crash through broken windows from the warehouse, landing with heavy, meaty thuds upon the ground. We stand around fifty feet away from each other, and the fog drifts away to reveal true nightmares in flesh.
The angel told me that demons have a penultimate power above possession, the ability to not only dominate a mortal mind, but also to twist the body into an image more suitable for a fiend. Now I see how true the angel was. They stand around seven feet tall, though the one behind the three must be close to ten. Their skin is pitch black, slick with blood and excrement from their victims, and hideous symbols trace themselves around their bodies like sickly green tattoos. All ropy muscle, clad in spines and bone armor, their faces are fanged and skull-like, skin stretched painfully thin. Their saliva drips copiously onto the ground, hissing and bubbling as it meets the asphalt.
The one behind the three, the leader, is even more muscled, an ogre-like creature that snorts in amusement as I don my fighting gloves, made of lion skin and adorned with sacred stones: a gift from the angel. The demon speaks in a voice like thick tar: "How fortunate you've found us, my brothers and I grow famished. Tell me little human, how would you like to die?"
The angel's rage and disgust mirror my own, and I feel the energy pulse through my body into the gloves, feel my heart beat alongside the force of an entity who aided in the Creation of All. I have no words for such abominations, so I raise my hands into a fighting stance and wait, as cold air blows against my skin.
Their laughter is like metal twisting and breaking, and yet they hold their ground for a moment as the stones on my gloves begin to glow bright. But only a moment.
One launches itself at me faster then a human eye can follow, but I'm no longer mortal. I feel the energy within me coalesce into the gloves, a warm and invigorating feeling, and I send it out with one punch that erupts like a cannon. There's a sound like thunder as the force of Spirit blasts the creatures body to ash, leaving a charred skeleton at my feet still moist with bits of skin.
No laughter now, only silence broken by a ships's horn in the far off distance. My voice and the angel's are one: "Let us show you what true strength is"
The other two move in just as quickly, screaming loud enough to wake the dead. The old me would have died of fear under such an assault; now I only feel righteous fury coursing through me like molten lava.
I meet one head on, striking with such power that it's face bursts in a searing spray of demonic fluid. It's partner gets an opportunity to grapple me, and manages to hold me in place as it's fangs rip into my shoulder. It isn't the pain that causes me to tear free, but the thought of that family, unjustly brutalized in the name of demonic sport. Before it can grab me again, I lash out with a series of lightning fast jabs, each one driving the thing to its knees. I grab it's arms, long and muscled, and with one mighty pull I rip it's limbs off and cast them into the darkness. I can feel the angel's smile as the creature wails it's anguish into the night.
I turn to face my last opponent, but it's quicker then I predicted, and I'm met with a clawed foot to the chest that sends me flying back, impacting into one of the broken down vehicles with a mangled sound of crunching metal. The ogre-demon bellows loud enough to shake the ground, but I answer back with a roar like a thunderous lion and smile at the look of confusion on its monstrous countenance as I race toward it with inhuman speed.
The angel and I proclaim as one as I leap into the air, falling like a comet, hands billowing with the Spirit of Creation and Light:
"The wicked learn Fear!!!"
My blow sends shockwaves for several blocks, and completely annihilates my foe; nothing remains save a blackened crater and a smell like burnt tar.
My wounds are already knitting, ravaged skin closes, and burnt flesh becomes smooth and unsullied. I hear sirens far, far away and so I begin to leave. I have a feeling that things will become worse and worse. And yet I can't wipe this grin off my face, because Evil now knows this City has a guardian.
