Post by Khaos on Mar 29, 2021 1:21:21 GMT -5
(Trigger Warning: The following includes graphic violence, implications of sexual assault, and socially-insensitive dialogue/actions against minorities)
Leaving behind Warren Stewart’s comfy L.A. abode was more difficult for Damien Carter then he cared to admit. Despite the fact that he had not spent an entire twenty-four hours within its confines, it was the closest thing Damien could have called “home” in quite some time. It was all a fairytale, though – just a fleeting echo of someone else’s life. He wondered what had become of Warren’s body; had Erebus left it there to rot for some ill-fated customer to find once they had wandered into the magic shop? If so, then Damien’s short stay at Warren’s house had served its purpose and he was at least free from having to explain to the local authorities why he was sleeping inside a dead man’s house. However, that still didn’t help the issue with his current ride. It was a twenty-eight hour drive from Los Angeles to New Orleans, and Damien knew he’d have to switch out license plates at some point. Luckily, there was a place along the way that Damien knew he could make such custom changes to his vehicle.
“Pane in the Glass?” Thea asked, holding her gloved-hand above her head, trying to block out the bright sun.
The two had been driving for the past five hours, finally making it to their desired destination in Phoenix, Arizona. Damien hadn’t really expected, nor wanted, Thea to make the cross-country trek to New Orleans but felt guilted into it after she continually made comments about “wanting to see how different the world was”. Like Erebus, he wasn’t sure exactly how old the Nightshades truly were. When all of this had first begun for him, Damien had made the mistake of venturing into the written scriptures, curious to learn as much about this new life as he could. What he found led him to believe that their existences pre-dated Christ himself. Erebus always laughed off such notions, claiming that “you can’t always believe what you read”. Still, there were too many Greek mythologies that seemed to have gotten the stories of Erebus and Hecate fairly accurate, making him believe that there were some truths to these tales.
“It’s a clever name, right?” Damien asked, looking around at the empty lot.
“Are you sure it’s still in business?” Thea questioned, watching as the cliché tumbleweed blew by.
At that moment, the sound of a shotgun blast rang out throughout the air as the nearby crows “cawed” in annoyance before fluttering off out of sight. The two froze in their tracks as they glanced over to see a short, muscular Latino man aiming his smoking pump-action at Damien. Thea’s hands immediately went up into the air, giving herself up.
“What are you doing here, vato!?” the Latino asked, peering from behind the shotgun.
“Well, he seems friendly… ” Thea began.
“Just looking to get some body work done,” Damien interrupted. “You think you can help me with that?”
“Body work…” the Latino pressed in closer, sneaking a peak at the truck behind Damien. “That it, esse?”
“Maybe we should just go…” Thea started.
“Yeah,” Damien responded, his eyes narrowing. “That’s it. Now if you don’t stop aiming that shotgun at me... I may have to enlighten you on the true meaning of ‘losing one’s head’.”
The Latino stopped a few feet from Damien, turning the shotgun up directly towards his face. At this range, any type of gunshot would be fatal. Thea had never before glimpsed into the future and foreseen when Damien’s death would come to fruition, but she was beginning to believe that she was about to witness his demise first-hand. After a tense few moments, the Latino pulled the gun away, a smirk on his face.
“I would’ve pulled the trigger,” the Latino laughed. “But it probably would’ve only improved your appearance.”
“Always with the jokes,” Damien grumbled. “Thea, I’d like you to meet César Cortés – the very definition of ‘pain in the ass’.”
“That’s ‘Pane in the Glass’,” César corrected.
César turned to Thea, shouldering the shotgun and extending his hand to her. Bereft to touch people, even with her gloves on, Thea simply responded by raising her hand and offered a sheepish wave.
So,” César started, looking away from Damien’s awkward friend. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“Got a few alterations I need made,” Damien stated, looking back over to the truck. “Discreetly, of course.”
“I hope you have the money to pay this time,” César griped, recalling the last few “favors” he’s had to do for Damien.
“Don’t worry,” Damien reassured him. “You’ll get your money.”
“Well come on in then,” César ushered them towards his shop. “We can discuss what you want done and just how much this is going to cost you. Say, you two hungry? My wife makes a mean red Chile pork tamale.”
After Damien and César had conferred over the desired modifications – and come to terms on a “fair” price – César and his crew set to work on fixing up the truck. Damien and Thea were shown to an outdoor picnic area, overlooking a small basin of water that ran a few inches up onto the shore. During the rare rainy season, his family and co-workers would need to line up sandbags to keep the business and their conjoined home from flooding.
“How did you end up meeting César?” Thea asked, taking a bite of her tamale that César’s wife, Adriana, had brought them.
“How do I ever end up meeting anyone?” Damien rhetorically asked. “The darkness showed me the way.”
“Wait,” Thea nearly sputtered, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “César… his family…?”
“I wasn’t here for them,” Damien clarified. “They just happened to be caught in the middle...”
The rain pounded down heavily onto the rooftops, one of those rare Arizona thunderstorms that normally would’ve cooled the weather off but, due to this particular climate, just made the air more tropical and humid. Deputies Andrew Baker and Paul Thomas emerged from the Cortés family home, dragging César with them. They forcefully threw him down to the ground in front of their Sheriff, Jack Marsh, César landing in a puddle of mud. As the two lawmen took up positions on either side of César, rookie officer Leon Carson appeared as well, restraining César’s wife, Adriana, in his arms. Hearing her sorrowful cries, César wiped the mud from his eyes and attempted to push himself to his feet, only for deputy Baker and Thomas to beat him back down.
“What do we have here?” the Sherriff inquired, looking through the falsified identification forms in his hands. “Seems to me that we’ve got a couple of illegal immigrants, boys.”
The two Deputies snickered as they pulled César up to his knees, his lip cut and bleeding.
“Please, sir,” César begged. “I have money…”
Jack silenced César with an aggressive right hook that dropped him back into the mud, the force of impact enough to make the Sherriff shake his hand as a result. Adriana cried out for her husband, drawing the ire of Jack.
“You shut that bitch up!” Jack commanded. “She’ll get hers soon enough!”
Leon tried to cover Adriana’s mouth with his hand, only for her to respond by biting down forcefully on his fingers. Screaming out in pain, the rookie instinctively responded by slamming her into the house, Adriana’s head bouncing off the wooden siding. César’s wife crumpled to the ground, unconscious and bleeding from a deep gash across her forehead. Leon appeared to be instantly appalled by his actions as he looked down at the wounded woman at his feet, before glancing over to his comrades.
“Jesus Christ, Leon,” Andrew shouted, chuckling to himself. “Try not to damage the merchandise!”
“I didn’t mean to, I was just…” Leon stammered, his face flushing red. “She bit me, and I just…”
“Buck up rook,” Paul interjected. “As long as she’s still breathing… you’re shiny.”
“Don’t patronize the boy,” Andrew scolded. “You know it’s not as much fun when they’re unconscious.”
“Gentlemen!” Jack shouted. “Can we please focus on the task at hand? There’ll be plenty of time for your ‘extra-curricular’ activities with the Mrs. later.”
The Deputies laughed before doing as they were instructed, focusing their attention on César once more. Leon appeared to be sick to his stomach, both at what he had just done to his helpless victim and to what – apparently – was still to come. The Marshall let the file folder slip from his hands, the papers blowing away and disappearing into the mud holes the storm had created. Andrew and Paul forcefully pulled César to his knees as the Sherriff unbuckled the revolver from his holster, drawing it forth and pressing the cold barrel of the gun to the Latino man’s forehead.
“Why?” César asked, doing his best to stay brave. “Why are you doing this!?”
“Because son, around here… I am the law,” Jack answered, a sly grin creeping across his lips. “Do you know what that means? That means… I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. That being said… right now, at this very instant, I’m itching to shoot you right between your beady little eyes.”
Jack cocked the hammer of his revolver as César did his best to remain courageous in the face of death.
“Way I see it,” Jack continued, reveling in the psychological torment he was inflicting by delaying this death sentence for as long as possible. “You’re getting off easy, ‘esse’. See, your death… it’s going to be nice and quick. Bang… boom… dead! But you’re little ‘chica’ over there? Well… this isn’t our first rodeo me-boy. See, my boys and I… we like to take turns…”
The Sherriff’s words lit a fire under César as he gritted his teeth and tried to force his way off his knees. However, the combined efforts of both the Deputies holding his arms, as well as the mud soaked ground making his feet slip out from underneath him, made his effort futile.
“There it is, boys!” Jack laughed, his cohorts joining in with him. “That ‘Latino Heat’! Let me tell ya something ‘homes’, I really can’t wait to taste that fire for myself.”
César struggled in vain against his captors as the tears streamed down his cheeks; he knew the end was here. He thrashed about, trying to wrench his arms free, trying to find his footing, doing anything and everything he could to break free. The thought of what these men were about to do, not just to him but to his wife, he wasn’t about to go down without a fight.
“Hold him steady!” Jack ordered his Deputies as he attempted to keep the barrel of his revolver pressed directly into César’s forehead. “I don’t want to get any brains on my boots this time!”
Andrew and Paul tightened their grip on César’s arms, holding him in place as Jack looked into his victim’s eyes one last time. Leon turned away, not wanting to witness a live execution on his first week out of the academy.
“Hasta la vista, mother fu-,” Jack began, before a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness and tackled him to the ground.
The Sherriff was in shock, lying in the mud, his eyes staring up at the grey overcast sky as the rain pelted his face. As he tried to recall how he came to be in this predicament, a dark figure loomed above him, coming into view. Damien knelt over his victim, an obsidian dagger gripped tightly within his hand. Jake had but a moment to take in this new threat, seeing what looked to be a demon of a man before him. Damien wore the armor of the Reapers, ebony-colored leather that – both – protected the Shadow Lord’s soldiers and allowed them to slip in-and-out of the darkness with ease.
“Who the hell...” Jack attempted to ask, his words cut short as Damien thrust the dagger into his chest.
The blade easily sliced through flesh and bone as blood spit up from the Sherriff’s mouth, a few droplets catching the side of Damien’s mask. He hadn’t quite buried the dagger into Jack’s heart but the wound would be fatal regardless, a slow and painful death; a punishment befitting the crime. For a moment, everything seemed to stand still as Damien slowly turned his gaze towards the two Deputies. Paul remained locked in fear, his grip still on César’s arm. César, too, didn’t know what to make of this savior of a man… muttering something about “el Diablo”. Andrew broke free of his shock and went for his pistol, pulling it free from the holster. By the time he took aim at where Damien had been, the man was gone; the only thing left behind being the Sherriff lying in a pool of his own blood, his shaking hands struggling to clutch the blade sticking out of his chest.
“W-what… in the f-fuck… was that!?” Paul stammered, his eyes trying to cut through the storm to find their assailant.
“The hell if I know!” Andrew shouted, rushing over to Jack’s side. “Pull your head out of your ass and call it in, Paul!”
Jack’s eyes bulged out of his head as he looked down at the dagger, watching as it – on its own accord – continued to slowly descend into his body. Andrew, too, seemed to notice this as he struggled to comprehend what was going on.
“Get it out!” Jack pleaded, blood spraying from his mouth with each words. “Pull it the fuck out of me!”
Andrew dropped to his knees and wrapped both his hands around the dagger, pulling with all of his might but, despite his best efforts, the blade continued to descend further.
“What in the holy hell…?” Andrew began, watching in vain as the length of the blade crunched into place against Jack’s ribs.
With the dagger having done its deed, Andrew looked on in bewilderment as the blade suddenly turned to ash. Stunned, Andrew tried to blink away what he had just witnessed as he looked up to see if his fellow Deputy had called in the assault. Instead, he saw Paul’s face frozen in horror as Damien stood behind him, one of his obsidian daggers buried into the lawman’s spine. Much like the blade he had inserted into the Sherriff’s chest seconds ago, this one crept further and further into the Deputy’s body on its own, the pain excruciating.
“You son of a bitch!” Andrew yelled, drawing his pistol once more.
Gunshots rang out as Damien used Paul’s body as a barrier from the bullets. Despite the “friendly fire”, Paul’s lifeless body remained standing until Andrew had emptied the entirety of his clip into him. The moment Damien had pierced Paul’s spine with the obsidian dagger, he was a “dead man walking” anyway… Andrew just happened to speed up the process by shooting his partner repeatedly, perhaps ending his suffering a little bit quicker. As the Deputy’s body finally collapsed to the ground, Damien stood in his place, unharmed. With trembling hands, Andrew attempted to release the used clip from his gun and reload his weapon. As the new magazine slid into place and the “click” could be heard, ready for use, Damien was upon him, rolling into range. Kneeling before his victim, Damien flicked his wrist as another obsidian dagger mystically emerged, appearing from the very darkness itself. Andrew had no time to react as the blade slashed across his throat, severing his vocal cords. Unable to cry out, or breathe, Andrew fell backwards into the mud, clutching at his mortal wound, choking on his own blood.
Damien stood up and took a moment to survey the damage, taking in deep breaths as if he had been holding in air this entire time. In reality, he was letting the sins of the dead wash over him; their evil deeds long having laid waste to this area. Erebus would be pleased with his kills this night, however… he pondered for a moment if he had acted prematurely. Had Damien waited a few moments longer, the sins of these men would’ve been amplified by the suffering of two more of their victims. Wait… not two… three. Damien turned to face César as he shakenly held the Sherriff’s revolver in his hand, the barrel pointed in his direction. Reluctantly, Damien lifted his hands to his side, indicating that he was “giving himself up”.
“Are you el Diablo?” César asked, doing his best to keep his composure.
“No,” Damien retorted, matter-of-factly.
“Are you here to kill me?” César questioned, unsure of this man’s intent.
For a moment, Damien closed his eyes. He sensed no more sin here, his work had been done. There would be no more killing tonight, at least by his hands.
“No,” Damien repeated, truthfully.
The evening’s happenings still had César on edge and he wasn’t sure if he should trust this man or not. Still, Damien had saved his life. Suddenly remembering his wife, César turned to see the rookie officer still standing over her, his hands in the air. César looked down to Adriana, noticing the cut across her forehead, then back up to Leon.
“What did you do!?” César accused, pointing the revolver in the rookie’s direction now.
“I’m so sorry,” Leon apologized. “It was an accident!”
“An accident!?” César scoffed, his blood boiling.
“Please,” Leon begged. “I was just following-“
Leon’s pleas fell on deaf ears as César pulled the trigger. The rookie slumped down into the mud, dead from a single bullet to the head. Damien felt that familiar twinge in his body that indicated a sin had just been committed. He was within his right to act on it, to become "Khaos" once more. But he had told César he would not kill him this night, and he was going to hold true to that. Besides, he wasn’t about to leave Adriana a widow, not when they had a child on the way...