Looking, examining, drawn into the detail of the child faces of the cherubs, she unknowingly looks beyond the effulgence to see an altar. As her eyes adjust to the darkness of the corners, she calculates the altar to be large, stone and ornamented -- just like everything else in this tomb of wonder. There is little evidence of reason, purpose or focus for these oddities as they rest somewhere beneath the church of a sleepy town, out in the boonies. She realizes that there are so many horrors that lay unquestioned and this, another link to stir up the unknowns. As she approaches, she notices a long, large, wooden box at the foot of the altar. The box is unpretentious, exhibiting no markings, writings or warnings, only a fine dusting of particles drapes it under age. Lying on top of the altar is a second box. This box is smaller, ornamented with embroideries and carvings. They paint a picture that attempted to tell a story - one of a massive sun, or a star or energy nucleus at its summit, pulsating with fevered destruction over a garden of huddling flowers.
She first opens the small box found on the altar. A tiny gold latch holds the two pieces together firmly and dangles liberally as she drops it to its device. She carefully opens the lid to find the box filled with a fine ash, the color of sand. Puzzled, she stares blankly at the contents with a slightly skewed head and biting her bottom lip. Convinced that there was a deeper meaning to this, she plunges her right hand into the coarse powder and retrieves a clay formation. She draws out this form and examines it with deep sown concern, for all this carried no meaning to her. It was a crudely fabricated humanoid figure, lumpy and fragile. It had no eyes, no face, no details to accentuate its fingers or toes. It simply existed as a lump of dried mud -- with arms and legs. All too weird for her, she quickly places it back into the box, covers it with its ash burial sheet and closes the box, leaving it unlocked. She now maneuvers around the altar to the fist of the boxes. This one was much larger, however longer than wide or high. A short rope, drawn in a knot, hung from either end of the box, as handles. The lid is absent of a latch or hinges to hinder its removal, yet appeared solid and tightly fastened and undisturbed for eons. However, the wood was in an excellent and stable condition, which betrayed the evidence of age. Without hesitation she removes the cover with effortless ease. Suddenly a rapid stirring crashing within the box, than a mass of darkness launches toward her throat clinging on with a supernatural death grip. She gasps and struggles at the mass as its mandibles begin to grind at her flesh with what feel as if a million thorn sized teeth. The space quickly fills with the sent of a putrid musk that must be emanating from the creature as she grips onto what feels like a tail. A sudden down pour of warmth begins to saturate her shirt, chest and back. The weight of the being quickly becomes unbearable as she begins to crouch than fall to her knees. It continues to claw at her throat as black stars fill her eyes. Her lungs scream for release as she fights back with sharp, short bursts to its abdomen. The mass is solid and cold; almost fish-like as she manipulates her finger nails around and under tight, sharp scales. Suddenly she feels a cord; umbilical like branched from under it. She quickly circles her finger around its girth and squeezes tightly, as her grip tightens, its follows in tow. However, she begins to pull with her constriction and its bight turns to shriek as the body slithers downward along her body. The teeth release with the pop of the appendage as she pulls her fist away, filled with fleshy blood. The slug-like creature barrel rolls on the ground, drawing its tail inward to defend its exposed abdomen from any further attacks. It had an abnormally massive, armor crowned head that is void of eyes or features to the exception of a gaping shark-like jaw. She hazards a quick examination of her throat by drawing two fingers across the sensitive wound to see the extent of bleeding. Her fingers come away dry as they carry the musk that it was spraying. Its manic thrusts begin to subside as it raises its head from the floor searching for its target. It launches toward her. She back-flips, with the slug leaping through the space she once inhabited and to the ground, her landing on its head. The exoskeleton crushes under her feet with a subtle crack like walnut shells. Stepping off, it lashes out at her left ankle digging deeply and sharply through her joint. Pain races through her as she falls back, her ass hitting the ground before her head. It begins to barrel roll with her leg in its mouth. She attempts to roll with it and kick with her free leg. The first of the assaults gently skips off its crown as the second hits it squarely at the side of the head, just below the armored crown. The teeth release and she continues to kick mercilessly. The crown crumbles like an eggshell as she continues violently slamming the heel of her foot into it, yelling in absolute hatred of this animal. It convulses as she reduces the fleshy matter of its brain to pudding. She closes her eyes and takes a moment to regain her breath and allow the pain to subside as her body pulses and screams in absolute anguish.
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Twelve
His semi transparent form liquefies in a shadowed corner. He listens, intently and carefully to the various sounds and notes' movements, speech and scents. One spoke continuously, another intermittently and a third person shifts in silence at the back of the room. A quick sample of the air and an inventory of weapons suggest only two. There are many conflicting scents to mention the least, the ones left by the vermin’s. However, two are the most prevalent -- Fresh. He loves that state, for it offered tenderness and sweetness in the taste and he was ready for a feast.
Deano sees the break within the man’s light chest plate that carried his dispenser. The straps allowed a great space to reach into, right under the rib cage. He knows that his opponent is Supernatural and will move quickly, and fight back with equal intensity. But attacking back a man who has his evil fingers wrapped around heart tissue is hard. The moment between his transformation will offer a glimpse of vulnerability, yet he hopes that the initial shock of the effect will distract his opponent. In the end, it did not matter how they died. He simply wanted them to sense fear before the darkness reaches out to them for what will be the only time of their existence.
He shuttles directly toward the first. His movements are ethereal as his denser molecules find the random paths of the less dense particles of the floorboards. He maintains enough solidity to keep above the structure as he directs his concentration on his prey. The man notices a shift, a sullen glimmer as reality folds upon itself toward him. His body suddenly coils back in defense, yet he says nothing as eyes emerge from the dense liquid. Then the flash of teeth, the smile as his life is reaped within the blink of an eye. Pain, compared to no other, not even the transformation, strikes through his fabric as his being is assaulted with the edge of sharp claws against his lungs. He reaches out at the black form, gripping his massive hand around a relatively smaller arm that fit like a lead pipe in his clutch. But the power in that arm equals, no surpasses his and he loses the struggle as his heart tears and pulls away. With the thud of the body, he reemerges into the ethereal plan and leaps up, past the ceiling’s confine and simply allows his molecules to swim past those of the wood. He emerges, on his feet, erect and in a room. The ceiling of the second floor bevels downward toward the exterior. The faded remains of the Southern flag over the glass-less window, allows a musk filled draft through the opening. He could not feel the breeze, yet the smell of the diseased smoke from outside is enough to turn his stomach.
The second man, lumped on the floor, sat crouching over himself and bowed his head in penance as a third voice spoke to him. A gentle casting of blue radiates off his face as the sound appears from his groin. He approaches the unsuspecting man from behind and looks over massive shoulders at the personal computer that he held. The man switches off the device and as though through some mystical alertness hazards a quick, curious glance over his shoulder. His eyes denote a sign of recognition as he looks through the phased body of his stalker. “Hey shit for brains! Where the hell are you now?” His voice comes short of shattering the building upon him. He places the small plastic package to the floor, under his knee then rises from the depth to just squinting over to avoid putting a hole in the roof. Still oblivious to the hunter, he moves forward, straightening up as he moves toward the arch of the door. Suddenly, black form materializes before him as he remains in motion -- than a shove, pushing backward, throwing him off his center of gravity. He crashes through the wall, raining wood and glass onto the ground below. He lands flat on his back, his head coils from the descent, yet futile for it had no true impact to the exception of pissing him off. A nip up to right him back to his feet as he sweeps himself off with the fluttering of his fingers over his shoulders and neck.
