He sat down, sliding a black leather belt around his nice black velvet pants. They were comfortable, formal, but provided a surprising ability of movement. His white cotton shirt had all it's buttons buttoned down the middle, the tail tucked under the pants. His collar was down, and the long sleeved cuffs were buttoned. The clothes were well-ironed, and dust free. Bending over, he died the laces to the freshly shined black dress shoes, with the comfort arc on the heel and bottom of the sole.
He stood up, and opened the closet, sliding buckled belts around his arms, chest, and waist, he slid the items into their holsters. He closed the closet after all 8 of them had been placed in their respective places, and a secondary belt around his waist which could hold pop cans into them, turned backwards. His coat hang upon the door of the closet, it was light brown in color, and dropped to his ankles. He slipped it on, not buttoning it up. It covered all the belts perfectly.
[ QUOTE ]
I'm waiting in my cold cell when the bell begins to chime
Reflecting on my past life and it doesn't have much time
Cause at 5 o'clock they take me to the Gallows Pole
The sands of time for me are running low
[/ QUOTE ]
The weather was foggy outside. It was near midnight. A recent spring rain had calmed the rainy season for the citizens of Paragon. The road was empty and cobblestone, patches of condensation hovering above the darkened and slick stones which clicked after each step. He was heading south, off the Crey's Cove, to the port warehouse district. Recently, some spies from the Demon-Controlled City of Oranbega were captured in the Island of Talos and transported to Atlas Park. They might have contacted any allies within the city. Intelligence reports that their base of operations is within the warehouse. He made sure to get the first strike. The last thing he wanted was for this to be known to the media.
It took a good thirty minutes to stride to the warehouse district, and he kept his hands firmly inside his coat pockets. The point was to look inconspicuous, but it only made him seem shady and more noticable, as if the port districts themselves weren't shady to begin with, but it was all in the act. The warehouse itself was normal in design, and nothing particular would set it apart from any other building in the area. He bent down in front of the door, opening his coat and sifting his hand through one of the pockets inside the lining of the coat.
[ QUOTE ]
When the priest comes to read me the last rites
I take a look through the bars at the last sights
Of a world that has gone very wrong for me
[/ QUOTE ]
Producing a small card connected to what looked like a TI-92 Calculator, he uses a small multi-tool to open the electronic lock console. Shifting the card in, he pressed a few keys within the machine, and it begin scanning and hacking the Electronic lock. Within a minute, the code had been accessed, and the door opened itself. He placed the hacking instrument and multi-tool back in their places.
[ QUOTE ]
Can it be there's some sort of error
Hard to stop the surmounting terror
Is it really the end not some crazy dream
[/ QUOTE ]
He prowled through the first level of the warehouse. It had become a veritable maze of crates and boxes, all with the proper tags and licenses. In the background, he could hear the ambience of men, yet their voices were still incoherent prattle. He kneeled in a crouch, his coat dragging along the dusty concrete of the warehouse floor. Both hands snuck under his coat, the left unsnapping the under shoulder holsters while the right grabbed one of the white soda pop sized cans on his back.
He pulled the tab off, as slowly as he could, but an audible 'pop' still rang out, echoing through the warehouse. The startled voices immediately took notice. His backed hugged the side of one of the 10 foot creates as he traveled parallel to it, step by step, careful not to slide his feet along the dirty floor. He could hear them breathe. He could feel their hearts beating. It enraged him. He wanted it to stop.
[ QUOTE ]
Somebody please tell me that I'm dreaming
It's not so easy to stop from screaming
But words escape me when I try to speak
Tears they flow but why am I crying
After all I am not afraid of dying
Don't believe that there is never an end
[/ QUOTE ]
He tossed the canister over the crate. It bounced against the floor with an audible pop. The Seven men there, armed with an assortment of rifles and secondary firearms, immediately took notice and opened a fuselage of gunfire. He covered his hands with his hands, crouching low and turned to his left. Anti-Personnel 7.65mm Bullets shot through the wooden crates and whatever was contained within. Thankfully, he was safe from any contusions.
In that instance, the Warehouse filled with light and an ear shattering bang. The Men started firing randomly, hoping to hit something out of blind luck. He slipped on his black visors, and leapt over the crate, dual Browning GP 35's in hand. Both visors were on thermal-vision and targeting, crosshairs focusing, allowing the sharpshooter to use paired firearms with double the ability. His nimble fingers pressed on the triggers. The pistols let loose a short barrage of 6 bullets each. He had shaved the triggering pin to allow the semi-automatic pistols to fire automatically, and it let out half the 13-Bullet magazine to each press of the trigger. The Bullets flew like lightning hurled by Zeus into the hearts of the unworthy. Impaling through their main body, striking through their lunges, which filled with their own blood from their heart as two of them fell to the ground, clutching their newfound wounds.
As two of their companions began to choke on their own blood, small streams escaping from their lips as bile and puss filled with wounds, festering with disease, the other five regained their eyesight. They saw him, their perpetrator, their destroyer, their savior, perched above the crate like a gargoyle to fend off evil spirits. He would be their deliverer, to show their souls to God for judgment. He would give them passage to heaven, or to hell. They had no choice in the affair; someone would meet God before the sun began to rise again.
[ QUOTE ]
As the guards march me out to the courtyard
Someone calls from a cell "God be with you"
If there's a God then why has he let me die?
[/ QUOTE ]
There were five left. One was armed with a Kalashnikov AKR, carrying an M1911A1 Colt .45 Semi-Automatic Pistol on his left hip. Two others drew the favored M16A2; one of the two had an M203 Under barrel grenade Launcher attached. He couldn't tell if it was loaded as he only took a millisecond to scan his antagonists. The third was using a silenced MP5 Sub-Machine Gun, with a 46 Silver fox with Scope at the ready. The Fourth and last was using two Uzi-Pistols.
"What the f--- are you!?" They were panicked, he could tell. They could see through his opaque visors to the sullen, empty eyes, devoid of any anthropoid feelings, and totally out of pathos for those who have wronged him. He leapt into the air, and time seemed to slow down just for him, as if creation itself wished for him to soar like a bird into the winds of eternity. The five could only watch dumbfounded, time had chosen to slow them down as the horror ran through their veins, chilling their heart and dulling their minds.
The long coat he wore billowed outwards as if he contained wings under it, personifying him as some kind of angel; an angel of death, an angel of redemption, an angel of vengeance. His knees bent, legs crouched into a fetal position as he bent to the side, and thrust forth his heel, slamming into the chin of the Assault Carbine Carrier. The man was thrown back into the air, spinning 720 degrees, the rifle flying from his grip, as he landed face down on the concrete, vessels along his chin and bottom lip bursting and leaking as the lower mandible of the man cracked from the impact. The Trance immediately ended, and the rifled nozzles went to the direction of their assailant.
[ QUOTE ]
As I walk all my life drifts before me
And though the end is near I'm not sorry
Catch my soul cause it's willing to fly away
[/ QUOTE ]
He extended both arms in different directions, the muzzle of the Browning GP touching the temple of the one with the standard M16A2 5.56mm Assault Rifle, the other aiming to the stomach of the MP5 Sub-Machine Gun Carrier. His physical prowess was triumphant as the rest of the bullets of the pistols were let off before the rifle and sub-machine gun. The Assault Rifle-totting man's skull's fixed joints in his cranium loosened as 7 Bullets launched through bone and grey matter, spilling pieces of his cerebrum and hypothalamus on the wall in some modern art painting. Pieces and slivers of his mind were open to full display, reading his final thoughts on that wall for all to see as they slid down the grey metal to the corner in a slump. The body, dictated by he dying mind, was quick to do the same, responding in much the same manner as his eyes turned red, filled with blood, his skull draining like a used bath tub out of the bullet holes. The other antagonist's stomach and intestines were pierced by the burst from the other pistol, the MP5 dropping to the floor as he held his stomach in an attempt to plug the life leaking from him. As blood and bile emptied into his digestive system, it mixed with the acids held within his stomach, leaking to the surface of his skin and washing over his other organs, melting them. His mind could only admire the thought that this man was currently going to die from eating himself from the inside-out. In a sense, he was committing not only a mortal sin of suicide, but also of gluttony. He would not save this man.
The Others opened fire upon the man, whom in a leap of faith, dropped the pistols and hurled himself into the air. The bullets flew astray of their target as he crouched behind a crate to evade the flailing gunfire. His hands went back into his coat, unbuckling the holsters under the ones which held the Browning GP 35 9mm Automatics, clutching the handles on a pair of Desert Eagle .357 Semi-Automatic Magnum Revolvers. Although not nearly as accurate as the Browning Pistols, they made more than enough in the deficiency with raw firepower. The remaining two targets were reloading their clips as he drew his weapons. Then what sounded like a baseball being pitched from a throwing machine alerted his ears. The 40mm Grenade launched into the opposing wall and exploded, the splash damage of the explosion tossing his body like a rag doll to the ground to the right, the Desert Eagles expelling from his grasp.
[ QUOTE ]
Mark my words please believe my soul lives on
Please don't worry now that I have gone
I've gone beyond to see the truth
[/ QUOTE ]
He was dazed, with several lacerations and contusions from the shock and impact, but not broken. The one with the two Uzi-Pistols advanced as the Assault Rifle-wielder loaded another grenade shell into the UGL. He turned on his back just to see the man leap across the threshold to land on his left side, both arms distended, triggers held down, spraying 9mm Bullets from both weapons at him. In a instinctual behavior, his capoeria training took over in a reverse cartwheel which became a dazzling back flip. The bullets raced through the sky, each skating off of countless barriers as they pierced air and sound. Round after round zipped into the man, firing holes through his jackets and clothes, some buzzing hairs off of his head and arms, A couple lodged themselves in the back of his left thigh, injuring his hamstring muscle and causing injury and bleeding damage. He landed with less than professional expertise, his left leg limping as pain and realization surged through his circulatory and nervous systems. Yet he did not panic, he knew better. He'd been shot before.
The man with two Uzis grinned maliciously. His very temperance was burning. The man's only desire had become natural urges to avenge, to destroy that which was sent as a harbinger of homicide. Yet it was his fire in which was fated to extinguish. He made sure of that as the assailant pointed his finger at the man's skull and flicked his wrist, a needle shooting out from under the sleeve of his long coat, attached to a forearm firing rod with a release triggering mechanism activated by swift actions of the wrist. The needle landed in the man's jugular, immediately jamming a mixture of cyanide CN-1 and sodium pentothol into his blood stream. A poisonous narcosis slowly overcame the Uzi-totting individual as He reached behind his belt, drawing two Beretta M9 Semi-Automatic Pistols. Seeing his flame flicker, the Uzi-wielder rushed at the man, firing wildly as bullets danced and bounced around in a morbid ballet of macabre. He leapt as the man, who kicked his legs out from under himself to land on his back. His back curled, his knees bending as his feet caught the uzi-man at his chest. The Beretta M9's pressed to his heart as he poured out his emotions through the barrels of those pistols, breaking the Sub-Machine Gun user's heart into pieces as he kicked him off him. His fingers pressed the triggers as if he was playing Mozart on the piano, each new bullet signaling a new note in the eulogy of his sad opponent, riddling his body with over two dozen new marks in his epitaph.
[ QUOTE ]
When you know that your time is close at hand
maybe then you'll begin to understand
Life down there is just a strange illusion.
[/ QUOTE ]
Dropping the empty pistols, he did not bother to pick up the Desert Eagles. He withdrew the final weapons in his arsenal, two Mac-10 Sub-machine guns, silencer-optional. When it came to use the bigger tools, silence was always an option never needed. He began to feel a numbing feeling as the pain deadened itself, although blood did indeed trickle down the back of his leg, staining his pans, socks, and shoes. Though fashion conscious, he had replacements, but explaining this to the dry cleaner would certainly be a bother. The lone individual, suddenly so aware of that fact, was extremely nervous. He knew that, and he would use it for his favor.
Though forced to limp, it was better to drag his leg and further injure it. He could hear the footsteps of his proposed murderer, and it was very much the same way. Yet in the cavern that was the warehouse, sound could be distorted. The Visors allowed him to see through the crates, seeing his opponent attempt to sneak behind the crates in order to take advantage of his debilitatingly mobile injury. He turned around, and his visors began a computerized trigonometric test, finding a precise angle of fire. Within seconds, he raised the Mac-10s and fired 5-round bursts from each into the wall. Most of the bullets shot straight through into the outside, flying into the sea like suicidal seagulls, awaiting their fatal demise. A few managed to ricochet off in an aggressive turn style, which flew into the barrel of the under barrel grenade launcher, destroying the shell of the 40mm Explosive grenade, and blowing the gun to pieces. The Explosion seared through the stomach and chest of the victim, the arms being most damaged as fingers and hands separated from his body in chunks. He fell, bleeding, and going into shock.
The man limped over to the last of the dying to watch his soul be released. He removed his visors, sliding them into the coat pocket. The dying man's eyes swelled up at the identification of the killer. He could only smile as his bloodlust was sated, and his nation was safe.
[ QUOTE ]
Hallowed be Thy name
Hallowed be Thy name
Hallowed be Thy name
[/ QUOTE ]
Raziel limped out of the warehouse, more than a trail of blood was letting from his body. The tin can as tossed aside as he looked down at the path of gasoline and blood mixing in a beautiful formula. Raziel took a single cigarette from his left pant pocket, and lit it from a pack of matches in his right pant pocket. He ignited the end, sucking in deeply the toxins and tar, filtering through the end and filling his lungs of cancer. Two smoke trails billow from his nose as he flicked the cancer-stick outwards, landing on the gasoline trail. Flame flickered up and traveled like lightning through the main door of the warehouse. Within minutes, it became a bonfire, an erected funeral pyre in which the cleansing flames allowed the souls to coexist within the dimension of the dead and dying. The Smoke was black, and billowed outwards into a column leading to heaven, the perfect highway in which the deliverer had meant to allow.
