Scarlet Night (Limited Edition) (5 page)

A cautious step is taken back as the therion's lip pulls back in a bestial sneer, “
Nice trick, freak show! Might get yo' blood-clot suckin' ass mo' quarters if ya pull that circus tent shit on the meat-sacks, though!”

“It might…” I chuckle, rolling my shoulders and then my neck to prepare for what's about to happen, “… but, like I said: this is
your
money now!”

The first wave of pain hits me like a kick to the nuts as I tighten my grip on the stein's handle and bring it around in a left hook. Before he can register the motion, the glass smashes into the side of his face and explodes into shards. The wad of donated bills—now free of their confinement—make a run for freedom; piggy-backing on a gentle breeze down the sidewalk as the therion howls out and slams to the sidewalk.

“Fuckin' cocksucker!”

I open my mouth to retort, but the second wave rolls in—starting at the base of my spine and ripping its way up each vertebrae until it reaches my brain and sets fire to my core—and all I can offer is a gargled whine. I feel something shift in my mind and suddenly the world is my circus and I can't stop laughing. Gazing down at the now wide-eyed therion, I see a trail of blood starting down his jaw; a few shards of my glass still embedded in his cheek and a lonely fiver clinging like a desperate lover on his heaving chest. I laugh harder.

And then my shoulder jumps free from the socket and my cackles are cut short as an agonized sob takes their place.

Fuck!

I'd forgotten how much this hurts!

My left knee starts to twitch and then suddenly melts into molten lead and I drop down to one side, trying to hold myself upright with my right leg as the left begins to tear apart from the inside.

Another shift in my mind and suddenly we're laughing again, though we're not sure what's so funny about our pain!

My pain?

Something screams inside our skull and begins to claw free behind our left eye and the night goes bright and forces us to clutch our eyes. Only then do we remember that the light is
inside
our eyes!

And the shrieking beast in our brain wants our heart…

We pitch back as the curse claws its way down; thrashing in our throat and digging through our chest until it finds its target and takes its first bite.

We laugh.

We cry.

We curse the heavens and praise the freedom and claw at the burning agony as it spreads through our veins.

Our hands pop and shift and warp—every joint howling to our blackening mind that we're dying; that we'll never live through this change—but find strength enough to clutch at our shirt and begin struggling against the material to free ourselves from its confines!

How DARE it try to hold us!

We are FREE!

And, knowing we are free, our cackles erupt from our scorching core once again.

The therion's rage from our punch slips away, and we watch through stinging eyes as they shift into the next spectrum and allow us to see what lies beyond the flesh. Like a mirage coming into focus, we see his shit-brown aura whip and writhe into view around him; every terrified spike giving away just how he
really
feels about us!

“H-hey!
Look, mah man! I… uh, I can
see
that yer comin' down from some serious shit, an' I KNOW yer too fucked up ta
see
the mistake yer 'bout ta make, but y'all better ease-the-fuck-up, or shit's gonna get real fucked up
real
fuckin' quick!”

The funny fucker's joke hits our funny bone just as it shatters and our arm falls limp to the pavement and begins to shake and writhe like a dying snake. The pain is excruciating, but—oh!—how that funny fucker's gotten to us. We can feel our throat rip open to make room for more oxygen and we eagerly gulp down as much as we can before
the pained shrieks and tickled cackles roll forth from our warped vocal cords in a simultaneous roar.

“Don't act—GAHFFfuck!!—like y-you're n-n-n—AH! God-fucking-DAMMIT
!!—n-nno-ot immmprressssed!” we drop to all fours as each limb joins in exploding with muscle and growing longer; every fraction of every inch wracking our already overloaded brain in pain. We twitch then as all the ribs in our left side fracture and warp—at least one puncturing a lung before re-setting and allowing the torn organ to expand before knitting itself shut again. Our eyes swirl as over-oxygenated blood floods our brain and turns it into a well-tuned and calculating machine with one function…

Murder; slay; slaughter; disembowel; destroy.

In a word: maim.

With new purpose and motivation burning in every nerve ending, we lock our gaze on our target,
“We're n-no-
not
even on the c-court—crrAH! FUCKER!— you crotch-sniffing f-f-fuck!”

“Are ya fer real?” the therion jumps to his feet and yanks off his wife-beater in a single motion and his aura starts to bubble and rise, “Yer trippin', motherfucker! You ain't
nuthin'
! Shit's 'bout to get
real
, motherfucker!”

He's bold.

We'll give him that!

But the mutt's struggle to contain his full bladder gives him away.

The knowledge that we're so close to making him piss on himself makes the monster in us
that
much more eager!

“You… you fucking IDIOT!” our voice is broken glass hiding in wait within a baby's bottle, and we howl as our skull finally splinters and begins to re-shape itself. We cackle again as our body becomes numb enough to stand against the agony, “We're going to rip your goddam head off and skull-fuck the prize!”—our teeth begin to ache in our gums and begin to shift and realign to fit in our new head—”That
REAL
enough for you?”

The therion's eyes widen, “Who in the
fuck
is 'we', ya crazy asshole?”

We pause, narrowing our eyes at him. We? Who is… fuck! We're doing it again! Thought we'd gotten over that whe—

Something pops in our mind and flares before dying down again.

Where were we?

Ah, yes…

Our eyes focus and take in every detail of the street—the shattered glass beneath us shimmering with hidden shades from spectrums no species will ever fathom and our senses drawing in a symphony of tales from a myriad of sources…

And we want to kill them all!

Our body becomes our own and no longer a slave to the tortures of emerging from wherever it is we come from. Joints that were once molten or shattered now flex with the realization that they've
never
been stronger.

We
have never been stronger!

And the therion must be shown this!

His aura starts in the opposite direction before he does, but he
does
finally turn to run.

The always run from us!

Always!

“Crazy! Ya hear me, motherfucker? Ya fuckin'
NUTS
! Yer gonna bring a clan on our asses! That what ya want, asshole; the fuckin' law comin' down on ya?”

Our appreciation of his humor isn't lost as we start after him. “Dumbass! We are
with
the clan! We
are
the law! And we're coming down on
you
!”

We're hot on his heels before either of us are aware we've even started the chase. Somewhere in our core there's a fire burning, relishing in the traces of fear that we sense as we begin to close in on him. His aura spikes and swirls as his mind tries to work out a solution to his predicament until the only one he's got left takes the spotlight and starts shrieking.

He
has
to transform!

He
has
to try and meet us on our level!

His body, unlike ours, is
built
to accommodate the change—made to shift and change shape at the drop of a pin—and, without pausing or slowing, he begins to will the creature within him to show itself. As his own transformation begins, we can see the fucker's shit-colored aura go batshit-crazy as he struggles to sprint on rapidly changing legs. That his body isn't wracked in the pain that we're forced to endure every fucking time this happens makes us all the more furious and we launch ourselves forward on springboard legs and sink our claws into the cold stone of the apartment building and begin to scurry across its surface; sending chunks of concrete and shattered glass from demolished windows raining to the sidewalk in our wake.

Spider-Man, eat your heart out!

Better yet, let us eat it
FOR
you!

Trying to evade our approach, the mutt takes a hard right onto the next street—his still-misshapen legs fighting to make the turn and throwing his left shoulder into a parking meter that cries under the force and keels over like a tired drunk; an eruption of coins spilling out into the street with a metallic clamor that hurts our ears and makes us lose our grip on the wall. Before we hit the ground, something dark and nimble buried deep down inside of us writhes free of a crevice in our mind long enough to twist and rotate our cursed body in unholy ways, and somewhere in between the three meter drop and we land on all fours. Then, as fast as it had emerged, the nimble thing crawls back into hiding and lets the out the hunter; the part of us that craves the satisfaction of seeing the therion bound within his own insides for insulting us!

We scramble around the corner, moving like a bat out of hell and tearing chunks of the sidewalk up as the claws on our hands and feet dig through it to gain traction. Finally stable, we watch as the therion finishes his transformation and, seeing all the confidence in his aura replaced by blind desperation, hurls his new form into the air and reaches with dark talons for the bottom rung of the rusted fire escape above his head.

We snarl and, tightening our grip on the coin-belching parking meter, rip it from the ground.

It won't be that easy, sheep-fucker!

The now nine foot tall monster lets out a startled yelp as our free hand finds its ankle and yanks him back to earth. We draw in the briefest satisfaction as we watch its outstretched claws clenching shut on air as they're denied escape. The satisfaction only grows as a face that now looks like a pitch-black, mutant pit bull meets the pavement and a wet, gurgled whimper follows.

Yea. Bet he wishes he'd walked away when we'd given him the chance.

Now we have to kill him.

The perks of being us!

We're reminded that premature celebration is a carnal sin as the foot we're still gripping—bursting through the mangled remains of a pair of sneakers—twists free and kicks out, connecting with our jaw and knocking us back as he scrambles to his feet. The world spins for a moment—long enough—and we can't find the control to stop him again as he leaps up and begins to climb the fire escape.

We roar!

“
NO!! WE WILL
NOT
BE DENIED!!”

His lower torso, ripping through the tortured seams of his shredded pants, dangle for a moment and we hurl the warped parking meter at the swaying target. His left leg finds the rung then, pulling the rest of him up and out of the twisted metal's trajectory and embeds itself in the side of a Corvette parked on the side of the street. A car alarm wails and the lights begin to flash a strobe warning; the piercing rays assaulting our eyes and making the monster that much angrier.

He's getting away!

We're losing him!

We can't have that!

Our claws find the concrete on their own as parts of us that choose to remain hidden give the orders and soon we're scaling the wall. Before long we spot the therion's aura three levels up as he struggles to guide his massive frame over a platform meant for somebody
half
his size and weight. His delay is our invitation, and we cackle euphorically as we grasp the platform below him in our determined claws and begin to rip the iron from the wall. Metal shrieks as once secure bolts begin to relinquish their hold and finally succumb entirely to our demands and fall free; the platform groaning as it begins to fall away.

The therion whimpers through his broken and bloodied jaw as he clutches the railing of the collapsing platform. Before long, the groaning ladder securing it to the next takes hold and the chaos is halted. Seeing his chance and wasting no time in assessing it, my prey hurls himself up the rungs that have, for the moment, saved his life and once again starts for the roof.

“Fool!”
we chuckle and continue to scale, quickly reaching the rooftop mere seconds after he does.
“We aren't finished with you!”

Shaking in fear, the therion takes several broad steps back, too petrified to take his eyes off of us. We're like nothing he's ever seen, and with good goddam reason! Our situation—our
curse
—is a last resort; a punishment concocted to be so severe that those cast with it would have an eternity to regret the decision that warranted its use.