UNIT SEVEN - Pure Death

Discussion in 'The Lounge' started by Resurrection_Joe, Sep 12, 2005.

  1. Resurrection_Joe

    Resurrection_Joe 1 ton status

    Jan 9, 2002
    Likes Received:
    Gettysburg, SD
    Just because I'm so damn gleeful, yet still apprehensive, pure blood and guts violence

    His left eye closed, the black clouds rode at unnatural speed whatever direction he faced, the shadows closed in, and the true vision of the new type deity was now apparent. The wrenching movements, familiar but hated, came and went.

    The conical hat he wore, unbreaking and shifting only with slight head movements, directed rain outside the perimeter he walked, footsteps three inches deep in the stiff earth.

    Resurrection Joe had blocked the good and halved his vision, and Seventh Heaven was loose.

    A gleam and roar premonated pure damage, a beast, an animal, an S Type, rushed ahead, peeling back earth, as if trying to get closer to hell.

    RJ planted himself, a once useful blade that had been abandoned in this modern time, was as it ever was, salvation. He planted it deeper than the iron heels, he planted it solid, and as god and demon met, it was pushed back.

    Catching on the left shoulder of the beast, shearing off sinew and muscle, it ultimately bowed to the friction and stuck, and Joe was plowed backward, furrowing three tracks, which were an instant later obliterated by six, taloned feet.

    Critical choices made, Joe knelt, holding sixty inches of matte white metal at an angle to the ground, and the animal, unable to stop, slid up and over both man and blade, burning a gash all the way to flank. Joe came out of it sideways, fumbling for the blade, grabbing it mindlessly, and cutting slashing his hand apart.

    The scene had stopped. The hulking animal heaved it's lungs in a torn mound of dammed earth. Joe was staggering backwards stiff legged, knees compacted from the weight of the thing, his right hand clutching compulsively.

    A race of sorts was on. Which would recoup first? Which would be at arms first? Which would win?

    "God eat God"

    RJ thrust the bleeding hand to his left side, his left hand grapping at pockets. He produced a roll of tape and busied himself under the rain, sheeting of his grey cloak. The beast grew restless. Trying to stand, it fell, and did so again, but each time gained more balance. Gore and earth clung to it, making it that much more horrendous. RJ has seen worse. Of course, he had also seen much better.

    Making its final adjusted stand, the thing came slowly, sensing either a great opponent, or a wounded one. Its head hung low to the ground, and six eyes stared brightly through the darkness.

    As it neared, Joe's left hand snatched the hilt of his blade, the right remaining pinned under his arm.

    "Buying time with wagered lives"

    He inwardly wondered why he was being poetic.

    The next step the thing took, the blade was tossed. It was a miserable throw the butt of the hilt bouncing off its forehead, the blade sticking a few feet beyond the final pair of legs. The beast gained confidence.

    In that vicious preternatural way, it closed in slowly. Three feet from a still unmoving RJ, it stopped and voiced. A thousand dead souls, the screams of the dying, all hell, all in its speech.

    "Uh huh" RJ mumbled.

    Its jaws opened and it came forward, a rushing of abhorrent speed. Just as quickly, the pinned hand, knowing its delicious secret, sprang forward. The tape had set, and the numb fist, with its one working finger, the touch of God you may say, was firmly attatched to a godlessly large underbarrel, topbreak revolver. Ragnorok had appeared. How fitting for this dog of war.

    Its nose met RJ's shoulder, smashing him flat on the ground, but the arm held straight, a pin brace locked. Its head was bent unnaturally, it's throat blocked, but the teeth sunk hard, and RJ knew agony.

    Miracles familiar to him, the one tendon controlling the finger on the trigger or that godless revolver operated, and one round on .450 Graves reported, loud even inside such a thing. The reaction was instant, a head thrown up, with a death grip still present, and RJ convulsively trying to work the magic again. On a hard upward swing, the second shot was loosed, and even though hard cast, failed to penetrate the back of the things head. Coming back down number three came, this time ricocheting back into the arm. The odds worsened with every move.

    The thing was flailing, in pain, for even if not completely passing through, the bullets had liquefied some parts of its head. Joe was beaten against the plain.

    In the midst, his remaining arm grasped like a man in the dark, finding purchase on a knife sitting crosswise in some part of the ever moving mass of his person.

    In the seconds pause while the thing tried to recoup, Joe drove that knife into the middle left eye of it. There was no reaction, the practical limit of pain being reached. As he still was ground into the earth and flailed up again, he twisted the knife, first finding his own arm, then the body of the revolver, and finally, stabbing into his finger. He wrenched as hard as he could and the remaining three shots fired in quick succession. A click, audible even now, signaled a switch in mechanics in the Ragnarok.

    "You know, this thing was built by someone who looks kind of like you"

    The final pull dissected the top rail of the revolver explosively. One thousand grains left the top of the beast’s skull; two side panels came out the left and right topmost eyes respectively.

    Even as it shuddered, it began to disperse. A quick tug sheared it's skull in twain, add the knife came free and revolver parts dropped on the ground. The clouds grew blacker and the rain heavier. RJ dropped straight back to the ground, a decimated arm coming free.

    Nothing more than a clot of blood stuck to bones and pulped flesh, he let his arm lay. He abandoned the knife, too much attached to it now, and being standard, not much of a loss.

    As he rested and sucked air as fast as he could Joe looked to the sky.

    He opened his eye.

    It was calm and blue. His revolver and its parts lay on the ground next to him, inside of a dark black stain on the desert hardpan.

    There was nothing else.

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