Power Trip

A young WWII soldier goes on a short rampage through a German town with an inflated ego.

      Today, his name was Terror. He was Pandemonium and Chaos. He was a reaper of souls and a dealer of death, a force of nature. On this day he was no son of a plumber, nor a lowly army grunt, but the avatar of the ancient Prometheus himself, bestowing his gift indiscriminately to the facades and figures of the town of Alsfeld. The great war had done little to Alsfeld before that day, at least little compared to the fury and the passion of a young man who, in his own consideration, had become akin to the warrior-kings of old. He had felled dozens this day and hundreds more would kneel before his might. With a gritted smirk and a gout of flame from his weapon he had decimated his opposition in their homes and bunkers as they cowered. He had reveled in their agonized shrieks and stood upon their ashes. No mortal could quell the primal rage that The Conqueror held for his prey, and as more and more of Alsfeld erupted into flame, he cared little for his rapidly depleting tank of nature’s ferocity, for the power of his flamethrower came not from any chemical, but the will of the Great Destroyer himself. As more buildings and challengers fell before him, The Warlord would move on. As he came to another target, a small house from which he had heard the cries of fear he had become so intoxicated from, he grinned with diabolical malice and had prepared to obliterate more of the cowards he had become so accustomed to dominating, but from beyond his sight, a man stood, prepared to challenge the reign of The Fire God. A single bullet would pierce the skull of the grinning hero before he had even known of his danger, and the mighty destroyer would slump lifeless upon the cobbled road and pour his boiling blood upon the smooth rocks without another thought. He had killed dozens of soldiers of the Third Reich and scores of the men, women, and children of the once serene town of Alsfled in his short campaign of horror, and without knowing any better, Private First Class Timothy "Shorty" Higgins of Greensboro, North Carolina would die on the field of battle at the age of nineteen, an immortal god of war.

Reviews

[prettyzombiegirl]

I really, really like this! I could feel the malice of this Fire God character, could feel him feeding off of his prey as they died. It's just really cool dude. I only found one error I think:

* man stood, prepared to challenge to reign of The Fire God. /
man stood, prepared to challenge the reign of The Fire God.

Keep it up! Great read!

[Vagus]

short and sweet, the way it should be! You really captured the fury our hero let out on his enemy.

[thecoolone52]

yeah that was good! Nice word choices as well

[B.Roan]

A very powerful, yet disturbing read. You certainly kept my attention throughout the piece. This story was set in WWII, but could apply to today. Not only on the battleground, by in our schools as well. Had I not read the description, I could easily have believed this piece was about Northern Illinois University. You write very well. Continue please. B