Existence in Hell

A very old story

The sun went down like a million divers, luminous, deep, forming a great violet sea of light, the sunset of all dreams but in darkness. One feature of death; standing out from all the structures in the world. An old, graffiti-ridden, rotten sign, with a shine of hell added to it. Wood with rings for each extinction, the only thing of order left on Earth, order of Satan. Numbers cast on this past object, as a number decreases a life is lost, the number of population left in Heaven’s grip only to fall into the fires of scorched corpses. Few heroes left on Earth or starved of heroes on Earth, half full - half empty, people still fight, some to victory, most to death.

 

Life flows over to the flaming wreck of the streets, where the shadows appear to be alive, movement taking slow, steady steps, light shines on a camouflaged form stealthily running. Now fully out of darkness; a military troop followed by two more, all wearing armoured clothes, camouflaged like they have stolen an aspect of the chameleon. The troops hold silenced guns like you would grasp an antique glass statue, holding them to their faces as a security blanket, their only defence to conquer evil. They edge their way across a metal alloy wall to a set of double doors, an icon ‘D’ featured on each of their chests comprising a team. The leader of the pack like a lioness prowling in the darkness directing the group where to step, peaceful stealth, steps softened, the only noise that of the burning barrels lighting areas of the wasteland. The team giving security to one another, working together towards their orders, no fear as long as they have each others skills to rely on.

 

The scene inside the warehouse is dark, dense and cruel; five humans which resemble the traditional zombie stereotype show their lack of humanity, they kneel around a burning pot, with sacred blood markings under it as if they are partaking in a ritual of some kind. The room stenches of fear and moisture, the five zombie creatures have mutated bodies, twisted freaks, outcasts that worship the dark lords of fear and agony to cause pain to others. Their dark faces never revealing all as if always in shadows, their eyes glowing with blood-sucking red, pure evil in each sight. They grab an animal from a sack; one of the freaks scrapes his claws along the stone floor as if taunting the animal as it whines a cry painful to any ear. The freak strikes into the animal with skilful precision, cutting it limb from limb, handing the ripped flesh from one cannibal to another, they take a bite with such passion it would disgust even the foulest minded thing. They then squeeze blood from the animal’s body parts as if draining a cloth, into the dark, sinful pot.

 

Unexpectedly the armed troops rampaged through the double door, firing their weapons with little concern for the evil ones as if feeling no remorse or self-control. Before the freaks could awaken from the ritual or even join eyes with the troops, three pain-striking bullets as if the powers of God controlling life struck three of the freaks in the cranium. They fell to the ground and their souls evacuated their bodies to a higher life, escaping the leash of the tormented freaks. The team was no longer in the eye of the storm; peaceful and organised, they were within the storm itself; the chaos, noise and disorder as they formed a plan in split seconds on what they could see. The other two outcasts stood raised like an order of duty, they felt nothing for their companions as if their heart was made of stone, never breaking to reveal its true form.

 

The armed troops felt some pity for the demons of the dark religion, but did not let it show, taking their duty far more serious than their feeble feelings. The stabbing eyes of the two freaks left, pierced into the bone structure of the three troops knocking them back like pins in a bowling alley. While the three troops stumbled to stand, the dark ones stormed off like the wind, fast yet silent, almost magical. But before the second outcast could retreat into the darkness of his lair, one of the armed chameleons struck his punishing weapon out at it and shot a bullet from his weapon like a guard dog from its kennel. It punctured the back of the freak like a ton weight falling into a pound, piercing his mutilated spine, dragging the freak down; a puny bullet verses a destructive hell being. The eyes faintly faded on this mammal, four lives vanquished in a minute, Hell on a killing spree.

 

At least the fourth mutant made it free of death for now and as the three talented killers reluctantly walked away from the scene of death, their faces revealed themselves from protective masks and out appeared humans. No merciless killer, no evil being, but an innocent, guilty face. These people each threw a round object back into the burial ground warehouse with sheer carelessness but as accurate as an arrow, these sphere objects split into two then exploded on impact causing a ground-shaking, impressive firework display, clearing the area of all that happened in those few Hellish minutes.

 

The teams work was not over yet; the leader resumed his orders and led the others into a strategic chase after the beast that ran into the night, he had little idea of where it was heading but knew they would be able to catch it out of the shadows. After an obstacle course of waste, bodies and fire, they eventually caught sight of the beast; alone, confused and scared. They slowed their pace following the leader as he tactically decided his next course of action. He armed himself with a scoped weapon and shot; the bullet cut through the darkness like a jet through cloud striking the beast in the leg to cripple its erratic escape, where was it running to? Did it even know? Was it just trying desperately to survive? The leader although questions he should ask knew there would be no answer.

 

The other members of his team approached the beast with reassuring cockiness, taunting the animal as it whined in pain. The leader held back in the shadows disgraced by the unprofessional attitude of his once well-disciplined troops, he felt sorry for the helpless beast, no hope left, just waiting to die. It seemed once the beast had realised its fate, it gave up on its dark, vicious mask and presented an almost human instinct of survival. It was the troops that were now the malicious ones, one troop using his knife to tease, torment and toy with the beast as the others held a steady guard on it with their guns. The beast’s whine reminded the leader of something he had heard early in the night when approaching the warehouse.

 

Suddenly and without any warning the troops surrounding the beast were dived on by beasts jumping from the buildings above, it was a dark and dangerous rain. The team was caught off-guard and as they fought back the peaceful stealth was no longer any use and the tormented whines ceased, it was a fire-fight of lights, bullets and blood. The chaos theory had reached the street and all the leader could do is pick off at the beasts with a few unsuspecting shots from his rifle, there was no team anymore just the leader watching as his troops fought wildly for their lives, from order to total chaos.

 

Like a black plague the beasts spread over the troops till they were no more, dog-meat in there place; blood, guts and bones, the leader was not going to stay and watch this beast that he had earlier pitted, feast on his once respectable team like leftovers. He briskly, clinging onto the walls’ shadows, fled down a side-street and carelessly ran as far away from the vicinity as possible, his expertise were useless without anyone to lead. All his team’s skill gone and in their place he had himself to rely on, to save himself; alone, confused and scared. He was lost in a book of orders where none would apply, it became more than a job at this point; it became intuition, indecision and life threatening actions. He was no longer the soldier; the hunter had become the hunted.