by Leo Romero
His head dropped in failure.
An almighty wave of the thickest darkness then swarmed over what was left of the world and he was thrust back even further. He was propelled out into the vast reaches of space at a speed that was so intense his last breath was still back on Earth by the time he reached his destination. He came to a halt, floating in the reaches of space like a phantom. He gazed at his incredible surroundings in awe, the black sky enveloping him punctuated by billions of tiny pinpricks representing the colossal myriad of stars populating the galaxy. Ancient planets hovered in the sea of emptiness like apples bobbing inside a water barrel. Ahead of him was his home planet, a blue/green utopia that was being engulfed by a hungry slick of darkness.
And then, the darkness began to spread.
Still hungry for destruction, its appetite not satiated by the absorption of a whole planet, it wanted more, its parasitic nature unyielding. Its hideous tentacles began curling out from the globule of sludge. They spread outward, octopus-like, toward everything else in the surrounding solar system. Vincent watched in terror as the tentacles grew thicker and denser, ample enough to reach out blot out the brilliant, blinding sun in a grim blanket of mire, rendering its supercharged rays impotent.
Vincent set eyes on Earth. The darkness had crusted over, hardened into ice and frost, turning the globe glacial, obliterating any chance of life in a cruel, cold snap. And still the darkness spread outward like a blotter of ink spilled across a virgin sheet of paper. Its tentacles stretched out, at first hesitant, but soon rampant as more planets and civilizations--some new, others ancient--fell victim to evil in its quest for total dominion. Even if it wanted to stop, it didn't know how.
Vincent's jaw became slack as the tentacles then grew thicker and stronger at a rapid rate. They streamed towards him in tidal waves, tiny hooks at the ends of the black limbs clenching and releasing, unable to resist the lure of more sacred life to destroy. He whirled away in horror, diving into the cosmos in an attempt to escape the dread chasing him. But, it was a fruitless endeavor. The power of the black, pulsating heart of the beast was all too powerful. The tentacles cut through the air faster than light. Something grabbed at his leg and he screamed into the dead air of space, where the sound was drowned in the vast vacuum. A torrent of pain tore up his leg. The horror of tiny hooks and fangs chewed up his thigh. A harsh buzz grew in his ears; the sound of satisfaction from consuming yet another soul. Vincent thrashed his arms on the air, his face a scrawl of anguish. But he couldn't escape. The teeth gnawed their way up his legs. They reached his midsection in seconds, where they clamped down hard, puncturing his stomach, his entrails unraveling out into the open, warm and slick. He arms flapped like the wings of a bird caught in the jaws of a shark as the black gunge made it up to his chest, sucking up any tiny droplets of blood escaping from the morsel captured in its fangs. He tried to scream, but all noise was drowned by the intense buzzing, the sound akin to the inside of a frantic hive of killer bees. Disgusting insectoid clicks grew with more intensity as the things crawled further up his body. In a slick movement, his chest was gone and the stuff was up to his neck. He choked as he drowned in a sea of corruption, forced to witness his own destruction.
From the mass, a thin, delicate tendril moved up to Vincent's ear and caressed it with horrible delicacy. He turned away in revulsion. The tendril trailed a tantalizing circle around his earhole as the sludge moved further up his throat, wet and cold. Then a hole opened up within the tendril; a small mouth. It uttered something in his ear, just for him to hear, the words spoken in a coarse whisper that was lined with thorns and jagged edges.
"We meet again, Slayer."
Vincent's eyes bulged, understanding bombing into his mind. His mouth snapped open, but before he could scream, it was jammed with the sludge and the muck and the mire. He choked on the darkness as it slipped down his throat to fill his lungs, turning them cancerous in seconds. From there, it fled out to his stomach, his liver, his heart, turning them black, riddling them with sickness and disease, just as the whole universe had already succumbed, and he knew at that moment that the battle had been lost. It had all been in vain.
Laughter rang in his ears, the cackle of pure evil. It reverberated through his severed mind as the darkness proceeded to consume him. His arms flopped, and he knew it was over. Both his mind and body conceded and he became still as he was swallowed whole, booming cackles resonating through the cavern of space. The last thing he saw were jaws opening up wide and snapping closed over his head.
A brief torrent of pain ripped through him and he was sucked back through the vortex.
His eyes popped open and he started, almost falling off his chair. He gazed around him in a daze, the remnants of the vision he just experienced still stuck to his brain like flotsam. He was back in the lab, which for a brief moment seemed like an alien planet. His eyes focused in on the fluorescent light above him, then down at the marble-like item in his hand. The yellowish slit stared back at him, unmoving. A cackle rang out in his mind and those words spoke to him again in jagged jibes. "We meet again, Slayer."
The Eye stared back at him. His jaw quivered. He slung it down on the desk and wheeled away in horror. "Oh my goodness," he gasped. In a drunken daze, he turned back to stare at the item on the desk. It lay there motionless. He now knew exactly what it was; his blood ran cold. "Oh my goodness," was all he could repeat now the realization fully set in. "It can't be."
The Eye of Moroz.
"Oh my goodness," he uttered once more. He had to do something, had to--
A sound made him start. He focused in on it, his eyes rolling. A consistent phut-phut! from somewhere high above him. He frowned in confusion. What is that?
He then looked back at the Eye, that noise growing with more intensity. "Oh... my goodness!"
He reacted in an instant. He plucked up the Eye and darted over to his secret room. He dived inside, scampering past his trophies straight to the wall safe. He swung the door open. He gave the Eye one last look before he threw it inside and slammed the door shut. That rapid phut-phut! sound continued, relentless. He wondered how much time he had. He wagered not a lot at all. He turned to dash out of the secret room when a thought struck him. He came to an abrupt halt, spun and darted back to the counter where he'd been studying the Eye. There, he snatched up his cell phone and took the brief opportunity to text Trixie a quick message. He fumbled his way through it in his haste, his fingers trembling. "Damn phones," he said as he typed. He clicked send and then powered it off. "Hope I did it right." There was no time to speculate or worry. That sound from up above was continuing relentless. He knew he had even less time now. Quick get out of here! his mind urged.
He threw his cell back down on the counter and wheeled away for the stairs, his weary body unappreciative of the sudden pressure exerted on it. He grabbed his burning chest as he made it back out to his lab, where he sealed the door to the secret room behind him. A loud crash then made him start. He rushed for the steps leading out of the lab. He huffed and puffed up them as fast as his legs would allow; he wished he could exchange them for a younger pair.
He reached the last few steps and something else became audible. Raised voices. Someone was in the mansion. And he had a good idea who.
He swallowed--even though his mouth was dry--before speaking into the voice modulator with a shaky tone. The door duly slid open, the natural light from the lobby flooding into the stairwell. He jumped out and allowed the door to slide shut behind him, concealing the secret lab once more. A quick glance to the left and right to make sure no one had seen him, a sharp intake of breath, then a casual stroll out into the lobby to face the music.
The moment he made an appearance, he was descended upon by men clad in black, their faces obscured by balaclavas, their stone cold eyes like those of cyborgs. Alert, bloodshot. Their teeth clenched as if they were in the throes of agony. Lost souls driven by anger, fueled with rage. They rushed toward him like a pack of wolves, aiming their
submachine guns. "Get your hands up!" one of them shouted.
"As you wish!" Vincent responded, throwing his hands into the air, wary of receiving a stray bullet in the head. A rough hand grabbed his arm and cranked it behind his back. He doubled over in agony.
"Move!" the thug ordered, shoving him forward. Vincent was pushed across the lobby through toward the back doors, which had been smashed in. Their feet trampled over broken glass; it cracked and popped beneath them. Other black contract thugs were already standing to attention by the wrecked doors, talking on radios, their massive guns at the ready. Vincent stared at them in trepidation.
He was shoved forward once more toward the back doors. "Outside! Now!" a vicious thug snarled at him.
"Righteo," Vincent said, nodding. He was pushed once more, causing him to stagger through the skeleton of his back doors. He almost fell face first onto the patio but managed to keep his balance. He stood upright and looked around. His back yard was infested with military thugs as if they were attempting to invade a small nation. Vincent stared at them all open-mouthed. Heavily armed, anonymous soldiers; a couple of black helicopters loitered on the grass ahead of him. He glanced up to see two more hovering high above them all like vultures. It was like a military coup.
He was prodded in the back with a gun muzzle. As he lurched toward the nearest helicopter, the door to the gym burst open. Rufus came rushing out, his teeth clenched, his eyes wild. Without warning, he dived toward the nearest thug, connecting a perfect side kick to his back. The stunned thug spun, only to receive a similar kick with the opposite foot to the face. There was a grotesque snap before the thug hit the grass.
Vincent's eyes widened in horror. "Rufus!" he shouted. "No, you mustn't!"
Rufus ignored the warning. Instead, he kept up his father's honor of protecting Vincent at all costs. He sprinted across the grass like a hungry cheetah, catching all of the thugs by surprise. One of them pulled the trigger, spraying bullets at the small blur tearing across the grass. The ground behind him erupted in a row of small dirt puffs.
Vincent watched on in bewilderment. Rufus was too quick for them.
He watched him descend upon another thug, leaping off the ground like an attacking tiger. He landed both feet down on the thug's head, sending him crashing to the ground. In his mind, Vincent punched the air. "Go get em!"
He rolled his eyes to the side. The silver–haired thug accosting him--who Vincent realized was the team leader--lifted two fingers up and whirled them around, giving his crew a signal of what to do next.
"Rufus!" Vincent shouted once more, his alarm ratcheting upward. "Enough now!"
Rufus still didn't listen. He was in the zone. He raced toward the next merc, who was swiftly joined by two of his friends. They encircled him, trapping him in. Rufus showed them no fear. Instead of surrendering, he sized them all up, his eyes slits.
They all stood off against one another, waiting to see who moved first. Rufus kept his eyes on them all.
One of the thugs raised his gun.
Rufus snapped into action.
He swung into a spinning roundhouse kick, catching the thug in the neck before he had a chance to shoot. His momentum whirled him around to the second thug who had already dived in. Rufus evaded his attack, connecting his opposite foot with the side of the thug's head. The merc slammed into the ground, his face left in the mud. Rufus landed back on the ground, just as the third thug descended upon him. He barely had time to think. He thrust his leg up skyward in an axe kick, missing the advancing thug by inches. He brought it back down, crunching his heel down on the thug's nose, obliterating it across his face. Blood spurted like a burst water main. The thug smashed into the grass in an unconscious heap, joining his friends.
Vincent punched the air. "Yes!" he cheered, unable to hide his joy. He caught the silver-haired merc's hard stare and his grin vanished.
Silver Hair put his fingers up to his mouth and whistled. He then pointed at Rufus, who was lounging, tweaking the bones in his neck.
In the next instant, all the other thugs moved his way, encircling him, penning him in. They lowered their guns, obviously fearful of missing their target and hitting one another. It looked like a case of overwhelming and ensnaring the prey the old fashioned way.
They moved from side-to-side, ready to pounce. Rufus eyed them hawk-like.
Vincent's hope melted into despair. There wasn't a cat's chance in Hell Rufus could dispatch all of them, even with his honed skills. "Okay, enough, now, Rufus. You've had your fun," Vincent said out loud. "You can't take them all."
Rufus gave it his best shot. He sent one down before grabbing another and slinging him over his shoulder. Another merc screamed and rushed in like a crazed bull. Rufus kept his cool; he waited for the opportunity to hook an arm around the thug and use his wild momentum to send him steaming into another. They crunched into each other head on before falling separate ways in a comical fashion.
Without hesitation, two more rushed in, fists flying. Rufus' eyes widened in surprise. His reaction was instinctive. He threw out a stiff palm, jabbing it into the face of the nearest onrushing thug; he came to an abrupt halt before falling flat on his butt. At the same time, Rufus chopped away the second thug's punch with his free hand, deflecting it away to harmless safety. The thug lost his balance, his momentum sending him sprawling into the arms of his colleagues.
Then, from nowhere, a whole bunch stormed in from all angles.
Vincent's eyes widened. "Rufus! Behind you!" he shouted.
But, it was too late. Rufus was overwhelmed. His head snapped left and right, his eyes and mind desperate to take in as much information as possible. He went into a frenzy of defense, dodging, swerving, deflecting as punches and swinging arms rained on him.
Vincent watched proceedings in grim anticipation. There were too many. Far too many.
Rufus gave it his best. He dodged and swerved like a nimble cat until the inevitable happened. Vincent admired his bravery, but it was foolhardy. He watched on in despair as Rufus ran out of steam. He didn't have enough time to react to an attack with the butt of an assault rifle; it smacked him on the back of the head. Rufus went reeling across the grass and into the arms of a thug, who playfully pushed him back into the arena, where more were waiting for him. In his now groggy state, he didn't notice the first punch heading his way. He caught it square on the chin. A swift follow-up to the stomach sent him staggering backward. He stumbled but managed to hold onto his balance. Another thug took the initiative to step forward and crunch a fist on Rufus' nose; his head snapped back before he finally collapsed onto his butt to a loud cheer.
Vincent winced.
A round of laughter rang through the air; in Vincent's mind it was like nails on chalkboards. "Please, Rufus. Surrender," he said in a meek voice, willing his trusty servant to just give in. He was forced to watch on in anguish as they kicked dirt in his face while he writhed on the ground in agony. Vincent shook his head, the sensation of helplessness overwhelming.
Oh, Rufus, no. No, no, no...
Every jibe and kick was like a stake in his own heart. Please leave him be. He's just a boy.
But, they were in no mood to stop. Instead, they kicked him harder.
Silver Hair then turned his head to the side and spat on the ground. He stormed off toward the circle of men and stopped behind them.
One of the thugs spotted him. 'It's Nixon!" he said out loud, making the others turn.
"Clear the way, faggots!" Nixon grunted.
Playtime was over. The thugs bowed their heads and spread out. Now free of them, Rufus rose gingerly to his feet. His face was a bloody and bruised mess. He stared out of his unswollen eye at the silver-haired Nixon, who was now facing him. Silence descended over everything bar the whir of helicopter rotors up above.
Rufus bravely raised his tired arms in an attack stance, but it was a token effort. He had nothing left to give.
Nixon's response was to turn his head to the left and spit. With an a
ir of nonchalance, he pulled out a sidearm, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
Vincent gasped.
Nixon let off four quick rounds, each one hitting Rufus in the chest. Rufus jolted with each impact, the guttural sounds bolting out of his mouth scraping at Vincent's mind like rusty scalpels. The final bullet sent Rufus flying back. He slammed into the mud and became motionless.
Vincent watched him with anxious eyes, his breath bated. He was half-expecting Rufus to get up. He licked his dry lips, his unblinking eyes remaining on Rufus' prone body. Come on, get up! Vincent urged in his mind. Get up, Rufus! Stand up! You've got to! You have the power to.
Rufus remained where he was. As the seconds ticked by, Vincent's hope diminished like a flickering candlelight. Rufus stayed down. And Vincent's head fell down. His eyes welled, his heart lurching in his chest in painful spasms. He wished to almighty God there was something he could do, some way he could save the boy. To swap places with him.
Take me! Take me, and not him, Lord! Take me! Please!
He looked back again, just in the slim hope Rufus was actually alive. But, alas, he was still. Dead. Vincent's head fell in his hands.
Nixon then turned to the side and spat one final time. He looked his men over with hot eyes. "See how you do it?" he barked. "Idiots!"
