Evolution

Tales of the Vampire Twilight

(Chapter Five)

"Evolution"

The blade of the hunting knife could tear through leather like butter. That was part of its appeal. It was specially suited to his purpose. The right tool for the right job. It also pleased him that he would carry his wrath in his right hand, just as he was the strong right arm of the Lord.

In a kind of irony, he was clad all in black--like his prey. His black fatigues would barely seem out-of-place on his killing field. The devil worshippers and pederasts and drug addicts all wore black, he knew--but decadent, effeminate fashions, not the utilitarian garb of the soldier.

He heard the place before he saw it. First the muffled throb of the bass and drums, then, as he rounded a corner, the organ dirge of keyboards and shriek of guitars. He saw the first of them outside the place smoking and his breath quickened. His cheeks flushed with his disgust at the girlish men in skirts and corsets, the women in vinyl and leather, brandishing handcuffs and other tools of damnation. The street, however, was not the place for his work.

He started inside, but was halted by a huge black bouncer, demanding money. He fished in his pockets for the amount, then shouldered his way inside.

This was truly Gomorrah. Lights flashed, smoke billowed, and everywhere the demon children writhed. He choked down his revulsion and forced his way to the center of the room, the heart of the dance floor. Then, he reached into his fatigue blouse and unsheathed the knife.

The blade barely caught the light before he had buried it twice in the back of the closest dancer. Before that one had fallen, he had butchered a second. He never heard the scream of the girl frantically backing away from him as he grabbed the black-clad whore dancing next to her and the music stopped and a circle opened around him.

He was surrounded by them, yet he felt no threat of force. The dancers stared at him, at the girl he held by the arm, and at the knife in his other hand.

He began for the first time to consider the endgame. He could not hope to kill them all--though he knew he had imagined he would. He had, nonetheless, dispatched two damned souls and now he had a hostage. And he had the knife. Anyone who tried to relieve him of either would surely be gutted.

He started to move in the direction of the door. To his surprise, the girl didn't move. He looked at her. She never said a word, but, instead, simply looked around the circle of haunted faces, still lit by the flashing colored lights. Then, she reached for his head.

As she clutched his hair and drew close, he lashed out with the knife, burying it in her abdomen. And yet she drew closer. Then she kissed him.

His hand, still wrapped around the hilt of the knife, was pinned by her body as it pressed against him. Her lips pried at his, her tongue sought his mouth, even as her lifeblood fled.

Then the others moved forward. Young men's hands sought his back, his buttocks, his privates, caressing. Women, too, pressed against him. Still embraced by the dying woman, he was dragged to the floor by the growing crowd and, beneath their weight, his breath grew frantic and shallow. They tore at his clothes and he felt mouths upon him, tongues. Those who could not reach him still joined the mass and began to embrace and caress and pleasure the others. His scream was stifled by the mouth of the girl and the pressure of the crowd growing upon him.

Until, under the weight of their pleasure, he was consigned to his eternal reward. Then, the music began again.

Next Chapter
Return to the Vampire Twilight
Return to my Homepage