by Birdy Jae
as was the case with Victor Creed, pretend they did. Oh, he loved war -
it was license to direct his full savagery against an enemy without any
chance of repercussion. And, as a pretty little bonus, he got to feel
good about it.
But this was a quiet war, the war that was currently being fought by
spies and spooks in the dank alleys of Europe, past the steel and wire
of the Berlin Wall - and occasionally, on the familiar soil of the
western world. He fucking hated it. He hated how his so-called
superiors were a bunch of sniveling weasels that would gag if they came
face to face with raw death. He hated how they minced words and danced
around the truth, how they called things "missions" and "operations"
when it was blindingly obvious what they actually were.
Battles.
But it didn't matter, not really. It was just something more to be
pissed about. He was pissed at a lot of things, had been all his life.
But as long as he could hunt and kill without being hunted himself,
well, he would speak their doublespeak and be the good little soldier.
And if he would occasionally take off his gloves and use those claws
(...and teeth...) he was so proud of and just fucking go to town on his
prey, well then the motherfuckers who used him as their little puppet
soldier would just have to cover his tracks - at least, if they ever
wanted to use him again.
He mentally sighed as he replayed the words of his "employers" in his
head: "Find and retrieve the Scourge, Creed. Do not destroy him - or
her, unfortunately we do not know. This mission calls for a bit of
restraint, I'm afraid. We hope you can handle it." He'd gritted his
teeth and smiled a sharp grin. "I trust the use of lethal force is
authorized in retrieval." He'd rolled the Rs malevolently, letting a
bit of a growl show through in his speech. He saw them wince - then
nod.
And now here he was, in the forests of Oregon, climbing a small
mountain to get to the Revelation Compound. His cruel smile mirrored
the one he'd flashed his superiors. There was a gleam in his eye that
he would have called happiness, though to the casual eye it was
something else entirely. It wasn't often you got to carve up a bunch of
religious fanatics. There was something about the self-righteous that
got on his nerves. He relished any opportunity he got to show them who
was really superior.
He dropped down low as his sensitive ears picked up the wet crackle of
footsteps on the leafy ground. He smelled the air. Sweat, gunpowder,
unwashed clothes - and the faint tang of adrenaline fear. Rookies.
They'd be easy to take out, but at least he could get some fun out of
scaring the shit out of `em.
One was coming closer. Alone. Creed's eyes glittered. He deliberately
kicked a loose branch, and heard the guard come closer. Peeking through
the undergrowth, he saw the man. He couldn't have been older than 25,
and there was a nauseated look on his slim face. He was wearing a loose
camouflage outfit, and carried a dirty machine gun that kept trembling
slightly in his grip.
Creed sank lower to the ground, and again kicked a nearby branch. He
could smell the fear coming in waves now; not too intense, not raw
terror, but honest fear of what was lurking in the forest. He couldn't
suppress a gleaming grin. Oh yeah, they should be afraid. The boy came
closer, until his booted foot was mere inches from stepping on his
hand.
He counted silently - three...two...one. With bestial speed he lashed
out and grabbed the boy's leg, pulled him close and tore out his throat
before he could scream. A faint gurgle was the only sound he made as he
died, his lashes fluttering above big brown eyes. He dropped the body
and focused on the low stone building about three hundred paces away.
He could see two other guards, orbiting close to the edges of the
forest. One was coming closer.
"Carl?" he yelled, "Carl, you out there?"
That's right, chump. Creed smirked. Come an' join yer pal Carl here.
He melted into the forest, and silently watched the guard follow Carl's
footsteps to his limp corpse. Then, he leapt out. The body made a dull
thud as it hit its predecessor on the wet, leafy ground.
Two down. One to go. This was too easy.
The third guard was a bit smarter than his buddies. He was heading for
the compound at a fast pace. He glanced behind him, and broke into a
run. Good plan, Creed reflected. Not that it would do him any good. The
guard was young, untrained and scared. Victor Creed was...well, he
spoke for himself.
He was much faster than the guard.
---
Reverend Seale had his large, clammy hands on the girl's sleek blond
head. He was speaking in tongues, warbling a prayer in his own private
language. The congregation was singing a hymn, singing with such zest
that Seale almost didn't notice the rude intrusion of one of the
guards.
"Did I not instruct you to never interrupt a prayer session?" he
hissed.
The guard looked at his shoes. "I beg you pardon, Reverend, but...I
think there's an intruder."
"An intruder?" Seale's cheeks tensed. Things could not go wrong now,
not at this stage!
The guard nodded. "Three guards are missing, sir."
"Well, go deal with it! Make sure we are not disturbed again."
The guard nervously met Seale's gaze, and realized argument would be
futile. He shouldered his gun and walked out of the compound, into the
dangers of night. He stood there, myopically staring into the dark,
until a sharp cry diverted his attention.
"Shit! Oh shit." A shambling shadow ran in the guard's direction. He
aimed his gun, was about to shoot when he recognized it as his friend.
"Lenny? What the fuck happened?"
"Oh fuck, Orson...Tom is dead. It's like he was fuckin'...ripped apart,
or something!"
"Calm down, Lenny. Whaddaya mean?"
"He means this." came a harsh whisper from above them. They looked up
in frozen terror at the man crouching, cat-like, on the roof of the
compound. He leisurely removed his one remaining black glove. Orson
raised his gun, and a hail of bullets tore through the air, rending the
silence and flesh. There was a grunt, a splatter of blood, and the
night was silent.
Orson's gun fell to the floor. "Shit, Lenny, I killed...AAAEEUGH!" He
strangled out the scream as his supposedly dead foe leapt from the roof
and closed a clawed hand on his neck. Lenny took one look, and ran into
the forest. Creed decided not to bother. He bared his sharp teeth in a
snarl as he tightened his grip.
"I'm gonna ask ya once: where is the Scourge?"
"In...in...in the compound! The main room!" Orson squeaked out.
"How many guards?"
The man merely whimpered. Creed's nostrils wrinkled in disgust as he
smelled the rank scent of urine. He glanced at the wet spot between
Orson's trembling legs.
"Oh, f'r cryin' out loud." With a dismissive spasm, he broke Orson's
neck. "Fuckin' wimp."
---
When Seale heard the screams, he knew the time had come. He lifted his
hands from the girl's head. His eyes passed over his congregation. They
were trembling like the sheep they were.
"It is time, my followers," he said in loud, ringing tones, "time to
unleash the purifying fire onto the world!" He spread his arms wide,
expecting a jubilant response. What he got was less than gratifying.
They shuffled and grumbled, and seemed to edge away from him. His eyes
filled with fury. "Why!?" he shouted, "Why do you hesitate now, at the
critical moment!?"
"I'm not...sure about this, Reverend," said a young woman with long
ash-brown hair,
"they're coming for us. They're gonna kill us if we don't..."
"If we don't what?" he snapped, "Give up all we worked for? I tell you
now, my brethren, the only way I will give up the cause is if I lay
dead in the ground!"
"I can arrange that for you."
The voice was like ice water along Seale's spine. He froze in place,
then slowly turned, coming face to face with a blond, bloodstained man
aiming his own guard's gun at him. To Creed's surprise, Seale's face
registered no fear.
"Do you thing you can stop destiny with a gun?" Seale sneered.
Creed smiled lazily, and tossed the gun over his shoulder. "I don't
need a gun to stop yer likes." Seale's eyes focused on the weapon.
"Besides," he chuckled, "it's not loaded." In a split second he had
Seale in a lethal hold, claws making neat little wounds in the thick
flesh of his neck.
"Now, yer gonna tell me where the Scourge is, or I'll send ya straight
to Hell with the rest of your cronies."
Seale laughed sharply. "Think you...stopped me?" he croaked, "Think
again. Now, my Scourge! Release the plague!"
Nothing happened.
"I said now!"
Creed saw Seale's eyes flickering to a little girl in dirty overalls,
nervously fidgeting, her eyes bright with fear.
"You gotta be kiddin' me." he growled under his breath. With one
seamless gesture, he slit Seale's throat open and tossed him to the
ground. He advanced on the girl, ignoring the rest of the congregation,
who were frantically stampeding towards the door.
"This is the all-feared Scourge, huh?" he said, narrowing his eyes. He
reached for the girl.
"Stay away from me!" she screamed, and gestured towards him. A black
miasma seemed to ooze forth from her fingers, enveloping him. His head
spun with pain and he sank to the ground, the world blacking out before
his eyes.
To be Continued...
