Re: sunday is drug day!
Posted by:
John William Stalvern
()
Date: September 03, 2011 10:52PM
His mind fell into an odd sense of detached calm as he catalogued the number of demons that were now concentrating solely on him. There were at least a dozen of the generic footsoldier types, a few spider-like monstrosities, and something huge lurking in the dimly lit shadows behind them. He looked out of the corner of his eye for his rifle, but it had been knocked away by the force of the explosion, coming to a rest in a corner five feet away.
One of the eyeless demons was the first to speak, its voice like the crunch of crushed glass. "Here to kill us, boy?" it asked, dark mirth evident in its words. It would have said more, but the huge thing in the shadows moved forward and grasped its head in one colossal hand, pulverizing it before it could do more than utter a startled yelp.
The demon was a strange amalgam of flesh and technology, with wires and blinking lights embedded throughout its gargantuan body. Even without what looked like a rocket launcher grafted to one arm, it would have presented an intimidating sight. When it spoke, its words were like a rockslide in progress. "No idle chatter. Die." It pointed the rocket launcher at John, fired, and as he dove to the side the marine only had time for a blurred recollection - when dodging explosives, move away from the wall - before the rocket screamed past him and slammed into the wall.
Then the plasma rifle was in his hands again and he fired blindly, scoring a line of white-hot plasma across the giant demon's chest. It snarled in pain and swatted at him, just barely missing and instead burying its massive fist into the wall behind him. John raised his rifle for another shot when an ominous groan sounded above him.
Already weakened by plasma fire and rocket explosions, the supporting walls collapsed entirely as the cyberdemon pulled its fist free, bringing the ceiling down in an avalanche of rubble and slabs of concrete. John was dimly aware of the demon's enraged howl as it was buried by the falling ceiling.
When the dust settled, John found himself somehow miraculously alive, though his lower body had been pinned by a piece of the wall he'd been standing in front of. He'd fared far better than the demons, who were all dead, judging from the blackish, acidic blood leaking from under the rubble.
He struggled for a while before giving up; the rock was too heavy to move all at once, and if he tried to move too much he risked bringing the whole thing down on his head. He took a moment to look around, squinting through the dim light. His plasma rifle was busted beyond repair, the delicate energy cells that powered it had been smashed. His radio had gone kaput for good, too; a large chunk of concrete falling squarely on it had seen to that.
Then, impossibly, Joson's voice came from the radio again. "Lying down on the job, John?" it asked, this time free of static. Now that he could hear it clearly, John thought to himself that it didn't really sound that much like Joson at all. It sounded... older, somehow. No, older was the wrong word. Ancient. The jovial, familiar tone of its voice was too cheerful to be anything but fake, and there was something lurking deep inside it that was far, far worse than Colonel Earl Joson could ever be.
"What are you?" he found himself asking, ignoring for the moment the impossibility of talking to a smashed radio. Somehow it didn't surprise him at all when it replied.
"My name isn't important, John." Its voice was full of ancient malice and glee, and mixed with a deep, raw hunger that grated at his mind. "What matters is that you're not killing any demons. They killed your father, you know. He knew they were out there and they killed him for it."
The shout tore itself from John's throat unbidden. "No!" It didn't enter his mind at all how that disembodied Voice would know about his dad. Suddenly he was six years old again, staring up at his insane father, seeing the stark terror in the older man's eyes and loving him despite it. He wanted to reassure his dad. "I'm gonna kill all the demons!"
"Oh?" Somehow John got the impression that the owner of that Voice was shaking its head sadly, mockingly. "No, John. You don't understand." It took a moment, letting him stew in the silence before slowly, lovingly, revealing the truth.
"You killed your father, John. You are the demon."
It was true, John realized. He'd killed his father without even laying a hand on him, running away to the stars. He'd left his dad alone with... them. He'd left and they'd come from the shadows, falling on his father and devouring him. He felt the pain of it tearing at his chest, the agony more real than imagined. Then he looked down and gasped; it wasn't guilt that was making him hurt. His flesh was actually rotting away, whole patches of it sloughing off to reveal the bone underneath.
Then the darkness, accompanied by the sound of low laughter, crept up on his senses and claimed him.
And then John was a zombie.