by Sterling on Tue Jan 03, 2012 4:02 pm
The man about to run bolted in terror and in a blur of motion that barely registered to the eyes of the horrified onlookers Sterling was upon him, his clawed fingers striking down hard into the tops of his shoulders, his teeth tearing into the side of his neck. The force of the impact took him from his feet, the toes of his boots dragging in the earth between Sterling’s feet, his body only held up by the wicked claws and teeth. He struggled for a several seconds before going limp in Sterling’s grip, his life slipping in a hot stream down the monster’s throat in long, sucking gulps.
Sterling let go and dropped him heavily to the snow before the last beat of his heart. He landed with the sickening thud of the already dead.
He turned toward the others. The motion was so simple, so fast, that it looked to the men as if one instant the monster was savaging their friend, the next he was staring at them with fiercely glowing eyes.
One of the men’s will broke, his mind shattering at the sight, and he collapsed in screams. The second began to back away, then turned to run, seeking nothing but an escape from the horror before him. The third broke in a different way, shouting an incomprehensible battle yell and bringing up his rifle to shoot.
If there was one thing more appealing than someone who runs it was one who stands and fights. Sterling focused on the fighter, taking a step toward him, smiling.
The soldier fired.
Smoldering black chain formed around Sterling’s left hand as the man pulled the trigger. Using the same supernatural speed he swatted the bullet aside as it flew toward his chest, the projectile disintegrating into shards as it touched the manifestations of pure chaos.
Sterling took another step toward the man as he cycled his rifle.
The solder fired again.
Sterling again swatted it aside, and took another step, his smile widening.
“Yes,” he growled. “Fight. Resist.”
The soldier slammed the bolt of his rifle home and screamed, firing again. Again the bullet was swatted away as one would an annoying insect.
Sterling stepped up in front of the soldier putting his finger in the barrel of the rifle. He grinned at the terrified look in the soldier’s face.
“Again. Try it.” He said in French. “Go on.”
The soldier pulled the trigger.
The explosion of the discharge was fantastic from so close, like a blow to the ears from a sledgehammer. The bullet blew Sterling’s finger completely away to the wrist, the pain of it making him gasp from the piercing sweetness.
The soldier didn’t move, just held his rifle, didn’t cycle it again, only panted in panic.
Sterling drew his hand back, spreading his remaining fingers to show the extent of the damage. Even as he did so the incredible rate of his healing was beginning to knit the torn skin of his wrist. In seconds it rebuilt the bone, muscle and flesh slithering over the exposed whiteness, until barely moments later the finger was whole again. His smile widened, impossibly so, giving him the look of a demon. He curled the other fingers of his now whole hand and gave a tut-tut gesture.
“My turn,” he said through gritted teeth, his fangs prominent and horrible.
The soldier’s rifle was sent flying with barely a flick of the wrist, Sterling’s horrible strength on full display. In the blink of an eye he was standing, pressed close to the man’s chest, his arms wrapped around his midsection. Baleful eyes glowed just before the man’s horror-widened gaze.
“Don’t feel bad,” Sterling said softly, his voice not bestial but calming, as he brought forth more power from within. “You tried. Let me reward you.”
“No...” breathed the soldier. “No...”
“It won’t hurt,” Sterling countered. “I promise.”
“No...”
“Hush now,” Sterling said, the edge of power and command dripping from his voice as he stared deep into the man’s eyes. “Relax.”
The drowning deep red of Sterling’s eyes pulled the man under, swamping his mind, devouring his consciousness, leaving him pliable in his hands. He leaned in, gently, almost like one would embrace a lover, and spread his terrible jaws. They closed over the soldier’s throat and his fangs sank deep. The soldier gasped in mixed pain and pleasure, his head falling back in the thrill of it, his hands convulsing at his sides with the sensation.
Sterling drank deep, pulling hard, his pulse matching the quickening of the man’s while he drew his essence in and fed. His hands gripped the man’s back low, just over his hips, pulling him deeper into the deadly embrace. The soldier sighed, longer than he should, his life’s breath escaping from him.
It was then that the formerly howling and helpless man struck from behind, a long knife driving hard into Sterling’s back and straight into his heart.
“DIE MONSTER!” the man screamed.
He let go the now dead man with both his teeth and hands, the soldier falling in slow-motion to the snowy ground silently with wide unseeing eyes, and screamed agony and rage up at the wind-weaving canopy of the forest. Even as his clawed hand reached back to grasp at the handle of the knife buried in his back black mist formed around him and manifested into smoldering chains that shot backward, wrapping around his assailant and burning into his flesh through his heavy clothing as if it were tissue paper. They bound the man, wrist and ankle, and yanked him upward.
The chains hoisted the man over Sterling’s head, screaming now in pain and fear rather than fury, as Sterling grabbed the knife and pulled it free in a spray of hot blood. The wound closed almost instantly in the rush of power from his fresh feeding.
The offending soldier now hung upside-down before Sterling’s face, his eyes wide with panic and pain, helplessly bound. Sterling regarded him carefully, his burning gaze burrowing into his eyes.
“You surprise me,” Sterling growled, dropping the bloodied and steaming knife. “Careless of me to forget you. For that a quick death.”
“NO!” the man screamed.
He didn’t reply, just drove his hand hard and deep into the man’s chest, his clawed fingers finding his heart. He pulled the spasming organ from the man’s chest in a spray of gore that soaked him from head to toe. But as he’d promised, the soldier’s death was quick.
The chains evaporated, dropping the now dead man in a heap atop his compatriot with a soft, wet, thud.
“EAT!” screamed the voice in Sterling’s mind. Being exposed to so much slaughter wasn’t healthy for him, not when hungry.
Without even thinking he brought the heart in his long-fingered hand up to his mouth and took a bite. His eyes scanned the darkness for any sign of threat or prey, but found none. The last man must have run as fast as his legs could carry him away. He almost regretted that. Then something else caught his attention.
~
Sterling
"Naive wishing for peace is the surest possible way to invite an aggressor."