Log in

I forgot my password

Search
 
 

Display results as :
 


Rechercher Advanced Search

Latest topics
» Marionette
Chapters of a Killer WIP EmptyDecember 2nd 2018, 2:31 pm by +/-

» suck on my magnum dong
Chapters of a Killer WIP EmptyOctober 18th 2018, 9:25 pm by Gemini

» It's my birthday.
Chapters of a Killer WIP EmptyOctober 4th 2018, 8:20 pm by Gemini

» EW
Chapters of a Killer WIP EmptySeptember 9th 2018, 3:53 am by Gemini

» What are Your Current Plans for Your Character?
Chapters of a Killer WIP EmptyFebruary 11th 2018, 7:33 pm by Chastelle

Statistics
We have 3557 registered users
The newest registered user is Shirou Seeker of Duckness

Our users have posted a total of 143994 messages in 12544 subjects

Chapters of a Killer WIP

Go down

Chapters of a Killer WIP Empty Chapters of a Killer WIP

Post by Adrian King on July 8th 2013, 11:15 pm

Smack, smack. Cigarette ready. Lighter up, zippo open, flame sparked. Cigarette to mouth, flame to cigarette. Three second wait for complete lighting. A slow, dramatized process of a addict's drive reduction. This drive reduction was associated to sex, stress, or just pure addiction. This time, it was associated with the layers of skin resting over the dining tables within a restaurant. They are painted white, covered by a thin cloth. The skin formed a texture over the tables, blood constantly smacking against the floor. Fifteen. Fatality number, all recycled for tables. Every sliver of flesh cleaned horribly and stitched together in the form of a blanket for the completely circular eating surfaces. The restaurant is vexing in terms of three things: the constantly flickering lights, the massive collection of blood and the lack of good service. At the bar, a man sat on the bartender's table. He scanned the area, dressed like a mobster without the coat with rolled up sleeves. His shirt was white with red stripes, a sleeveless vest over it and buttoned up completely. His pants were jet black and fancy along with his plain, leather dress shoes.

Blood pools rested all along the room, bullet cases and multiple ruined scissors and scalpels scattered around. From a chandelier a corpse was hung, seemingly the bartender himself. The bartender's throat was slit, the rope gripped the gap and slowly allowing the body and head to being the process of disconnection. John had tucked his zippo back into his pants, an empty silverballer and .38 special laying to his right. He held his cigarette with his left currently, seldom actually taking hits. A splash of blood had seemingly previously spread across his face. Luckily, all doors were locked so no one could be a curious victim and walk in. Holding the cigarette in between his lips, John lifted the .38 and checked for anymore bullets, noticing there was only one left. Hopping down from the bar, he dipped his finger in blood and drew an intricate symbol under his jaw. Clicking back the hammer on his revolver, he lifted it to his jaw.

"Dinner time." he spoke quietly before squeezing the trigger and firing the bullet towards the symbol he had drawn. With a loud bang, black blood came from the top of John's head as a the innards of his head and fragments of his skull ejected into the air. Without budging, he let his arms dangle, eventually dropping his gun before his eyes turned pure black. His skin slowly lost pigmentation and become an ash white. His fingernails and toenails turned completely black and grew into sharper, beast-like claws. His teeth slowly lengthened slightly as each sharpened intensely. John's hair slowly was forced from his scalp, sliding down his back before bursting into a black sand as soon as it touched the ground. The blood from the ground formed average height plumes, eventually solidifying into spires of crystalline blood. As seconds passed, they turned black and switched from translucent to opaque.

Hands burst from the spire, eventually releasing demonic half-humans from them. Chairs of the late customers and servers' bones began to take shape, the intestines of each forming cushions alongside the liver. The demonic figures took their seats, filling the tables. John, looking down at the ground and motionless, felt life spring into him as his fatal wound disappeared. Spikes protruded from his elbows now, as well as his skin cells turning into iron-strong scales. From the black sand, a bible-like book was manifested, John retrieving it before facing his audience.

"WE GATHER HERE FOR THIS FEAST...For my success and for our liberty! Chalices!" the skulls of the victims were saved and shaped into small chalices for each demon that sat. Excess blood filled the chalices as the seemingly telekinetic powers of Mr. Esker were flaunted. Plates from the kitchen floated on to the tables, each with a stray heart on them. "Let's not forget the main course!" Mr. Esker rested his hands behind his waist, smiling with his extended lips. The wicked crescent of a smile flaunted his dagger-like teeth. "Enjoy..." For no rest for the wicked for a long time after this..... John's demonic body rose, levitating before moving and landing behind the bar. As his allies feasted on the hearts of the slain, he found a rock glass before dropping two thick ice cubes into it. He then lifted the ice cubes with the presence of scotch, swirling it in a trance of though. He sipped the scotch, standing in place and contemplating his next moves.


----3 Days Earlier----

What do I do? What the fuck? No...No....Sh...SHIT. The same man, John Esker, frantically paced around his apartment in human form, but seemingly different from his future personality. A silverballer in hand, he paced, staring down at it with a worried face. He had a simple set-up, a kitched with a electric stove, a low-wattage microwave, a mediocre fridge. He had the ruined hand-me-down couch with a off-brand flatscreen with terrible, over-hyped quality. He had a table with an ash tray that had four ends of cigarettes and a roach hidden in the ashes. It was glass with an intricate design, usually capable of resisting heat. Next to it was his pack of Newport's that had a joint hidden amongst the menthol cancer sticks. Several ammunition cartridges were spread across, filled to the brim with high-caliber bullets. On his hand-me-down couch was the corpses of three beings, a 2-weeks pregnant woman, a dismantled baby and a man dressed for business. A few bullet casings rolled off the couch as blood stained the cloth coating.

Frantically bitching about what he just did, John tempted himself a few times to end it right then and there. Sirens had sprouted the true fear from his mind, stupidly thinking throwing a blanket over the bodies would help. Almost half an hour ago, he slayed his sister, lover and divorce attorney after a random burst of rage. He was a formerly married, poor man. Now, he was a criminal and need to escape the heat. Positioned below his window like he was taking cover, a black spear forced itself through the door, a black figure growing from it before absorbing the spear. The figure took a human form, looking down at John Esker.

"John Esker?" the policeman-looking demon extended his...its arm out for a hand shake. In fear, John Esker unloaded his entire remaining ammunition in the clip on the demon, watching the ineffective bullets be merely shrugged off. With a distorted pattern of walking, the policeman danced on over to John. "Jo-hahn Esker." the policeman kept walking closer as John backed off slowly. Moving at the same pace, it took a while before they both neared the wall. After smacking the policeman in the face with his gun he dashed  for the fire escape. All the stranger did was just stand there, laughing with a hint of annoyance in his laughter. "You can't run forever Mr. Esker." John tried exiting through the fire escape but a black tar-like substance closed it off. Turning around to see if the policeman was following him.

That was when he felt the piercing pain, the feeling of impalement right before his vision went black. The policeman, now in a humanoid form that resembled a featureless black figure with a tar-like texture, impaled him with a manifested spear like the one from before. Tendrils came from the spear and entered John's body, the figure being absorbed by the spear itself and then by John himself. As John's impalement wound closed and vanished, he closed and re-opened his eyes, showing the orange-red irises and disfigured pupils.

"You're right....I can't run forever." John waltzed over to his cigarettes, beginning the addict's process. Smack, smack. Cigarette ready. Lighter up, zippo open. Flame ignited, flame to cigarette, wait for complete lighting. Drive reduced, business-ready mood engaged. John tucked his zippo away into his pocket, reloading his Silverballer and changing his clothes into that which he will wear later on. He wore straps for his silverballer and remaining clips, tearing the wall open to reveal a butterfly knife, three grand, and a snub nose .38 special. There was an extra holster for his .38 special, which he intended on using as well as the extra holster for his butterfly knife. He also found his fedora with skulls patterning it within checkered blocks, placing it on his head and finding his double-breasted coat in the closet. As he made his way for the door, he looked back and tugged the blanket from the corpses. "I'll leave them a snack."

John took the blood from one of the corpses and drew and symbol before pulling his .38 and firing into the symbol. The symbol was placed on the wall this time around, so he did not have to imitate killing himself yet. As he exited the apartment, he made his way for a Bentley, retrieving the keys from inside his coat's pocket. As he started the ignition, he took a moment to think about the "what now" of the situation. As John sat in his car, he switched the radio on, switching to CD and playing what was in. So dazed and confused...for SO LONG IT'S NOT TRUE! John switched the car into reverse, backing up and switching into drive, moving on. Wanted a woman, never bargained for you... He rode at an average of 55 to 60 miles per hour, keeping a steady flow and relaxing to the music. Lots of people talk and few of them know.....

John peered into his rear-view mirror and saw the nothingness that filled the road in his stead, smirking. Soul of a woman was created below... John had open the club department and pulled out a envelope, closing it afterwards. Tearing it open with his razor sharp teeth, he pulled out its contents. A letter disclosing where he had to be. Riding the road with "Dazed and Confused" blaring loudly, John began laughing, seemingly out of the blue. He shook his head to the endlessly looping song in a Led Zeppelin head-bob style. Whilst driving, he retrieved his cigarettes and lit one, pondering on the future fun-fair he's ready to participate in.

___________________
Drakar - The Dark Messiah
_____________________________________

Chapters of a Killer WIP Diothr11
I can haz Omens?
Adrian King
Adrian King

Post Count : 1851

Back to top Go down

Back to top

- Similar topics

 
Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum