Wrath's Revenge (0/?)
Title: Wrath's Revenge
Author: little_artemis (AKA balthiersgirl on y!, and littleartemis everywhere else)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1315
Fandom: Original
Characters/Pairing: OC/OC
Warning: Graphic violence.
Summary: A killer who everyone calls 'Wrath' is on the loose. He kills with out mercy or remorse, and his intentions are only known to him.
Notes: Part of an original fiction I'm considering rebooting, or at least attempting to continue. This is all I have so far, I'm going to try to plot everything out before I consider continuing this story fully.
Disclaimer: All characters are copyright to me. The work is solely my own and not to be used my anyone else.
The large man blew into his hands, the cold wind whispering by. His breath could be seen, as his beady brown eyes darted about. Rubbing his shoulders, he just stood on the side walk, waiting, but for what, no one would know.
Footsteps sounded from the alley nearby. Jumping, the fat man shook in his shoes, staring in the direction of the entrance. “Wh-who’s there?” No answer. “I-I must w-warn you. I am ar-armed.” This time, the presence laughed. Swallowing, he backed away, eyes going wide with fear.
“You?” A cool, calm voice laughed in the shadows, daring the large mass before it. “Armed? Aren’t you too much of a coward for weapons? With your business, one would think you too be unarmed, considering how much you like to get others to do your work for you, Harry.” A short, hooded figure slowly stepped into view. All that could be seen of his face was the small smirk on his lips. Green hair poked through the top of his hood, indicating a quick cover up. Held tightly in his right hand, the stranger held a long, blood stained pipe.
“I-I don’t know wh-what you’re t-talking about.” Harry stuttered, taking another step back in fear, eyes fixed on the bloodied weapon.
“Oh but you do Harry. You know very well what I’m talking about.” Pulling back the grey hood, the golden green eyes bore into Harry’s brown ones. “You know more then I do in fact.” Playing with his hair, the stranger was momentarily distracted giving Harry a chance to run, but he didn’t. Eyes fixed on the slim legs, and confident sneer. Green bangs falling over his eyes, he laughed as Harry pulled out his cell phone, his trembling hands making it almost fall to the ground.
In a flash, though, the fat man was the one on the ground, on his back. “You’re not going to get me that easily.” With that, the attacker stood, taking hold of Harry’s legs. With great effort, and plenty of grunting, he dragged his victim into the alley he’d come from.
“C’mon, Chris. Can’t we reach an understanding?” Harry begged, trying to pull away. When they stopped, Chris lowered himself, sitting on his ankles. Bouncing a few times, he seemed to consider the offer, eyes looking up towards the sky disinterestedly.
Though, the idea was quickly ceased as Chris stood, glaring at Harry, pipe in hand. “You didn’t try to reach and understanding with Lee, or all the others did you? Well you’re not going to get a chance either.”
With that, Chris raised the pipe above his head, beating the man’s body. Blood splashed where skin tore, and bone split through. The sound of crunching bones was sickening, agonizing cries pouring from the man’s throat only seemed to fuel Chris’ fire. He barely appeared to notice the disgusting sight of bone through skin, or the putrid smell of blood in the air.
“Now you know how it is to be low on the ladder of life, Harry.” Snickering, the small man gave a light kick to the stomach of the man sobbing before him, cocking his head to the side as the dress shirt rode up, revealing the bruises from his handiwork.
“Please stop.” Harry begged. “I have a wife and kids to think about. Don’t you?” Scowling, eyes narrowed, Chris kicked him once more, though more forcefully this time. With out a word, he continued his beating again, this time moving to the man’s head and face; jaw cracking, now breaking, lip splitting. Breathing deeply as the final blow was dealt to his victim; the killer gave the corpse one last kick to check if he was still alive.
Nodding, Chris leaned back against a nearby building, cursing himself. “And me with out a change of clothes,” he laughed, looking down at the bloodied pants and hoodie. Then again, this killing was unplanned. It was just a coincidence that while out getting the boys a treat, he come across the walking dough boy.
He was a man in the sex trade industry, who some time ago had tried to get someone close to Chris into that circle. Luckily for Chris, Lee wasn’t stupid, and would have none of it. It was unlucky for the guy, though, that at the first chance he got, Lee came back to Chris to tell the entire story of what had happened to him. Thus, leading the man into the situation he was in now; dead. And it served him right for messing with Chris’s circle of friends.
Pulling his bottle of water out, he poured some on his pants, trying to clean as much of the blood off before anyone came to look. Once enough was gone, he pulled his hoodie off, shaking his hair from his eyes. Pushing away from the wall, he began heading home, dragging the pipe behind him. “That was one of my more quick ones…” he murmured to himself, running a hand through his hair, taking a swig of what was left of his water.
Walking through the maze of apartments, Chris looked for his own, knowing his sons were going to be annoyed with their father. Carrying the bloodied hoodie behind himself, Chris sighed as he found his building. Careful not to be noticed, he entered, walking up stairs and along halls to his apartment. Before entering, he flipped the hoodie inside out, and checked to make sure he didn’t have any traces of the fight on him. Bloody end of the pipe covered by the hoodie, he entered, immediately greeted by joyous cries of his three sons. All of them surrounding him, big eyes staring up at their father, the fraternal triplets fought for his attention.
“Did you get the ice cream Daddy?” The little white haired one spoke with a slight whine.
“Sorry, Charlie, they were closed.” All three let out a cry of dismay, storming off. Shaking his head, the father walked off to the laundry room, pulling off his pants as he walked along. Once there, he threw them in the washer with his hoodie, considering throwing his tee-shirt in there too. Shrugging, he thought it best he did. It was time to clean up the evidence. In only his boxers, he carried himself to his room pipe in hand.
In reality, the store was open, but the opportunity was better then the ice cream. The boys would forgive him soon, and tomorrow he’d make it up to them by getting ice cream and candy. Not wise, but it was a treat to the patient boys. Even so, he had work tomorrow; the baby sitter could handle the disaster trio. “Damn blood stains…” Chris muttered to himself, setting the pole inside his closet. He had a hard time asking about a good laundry detergent for cleaning blood out. But who didn’t? Sighing, he massaged the bridge of his nose. He would need to start wearing black or white when going out to kill. Even if tonight was just a coincidence, he’d have to start running with his strategies more then instincts. If he didn’t, he was sure to get caught.
“Hey, Dad.” A brunet head poked its way into his room, not caring that Chris was in his underwear. “You going to read us our bed time story?”
“Yeah,” he laughed heartily. “Just give me a sec to pull on my pajamas. Make sure you and your brothers are ready, okay Gareth? I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
Nodding, the boy quickly ran off, leaving his father too finding his pajama bottoms in the mess of his room. Once found, the small man padded out of his room, laughing to himself. Whispers were coming from the boys’ room, just like every other night when they were doing something they shouldn’t. It seemed to be just another day for him.
Author: little_artemis (AKA balthiersgirl on y!, and littleartemis everywhere else)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1315
Fandom: Original
Characters/Pairing: OC/OC
Warning: Graphic violence.
Summary: A killer who everyone calls 'Wrath' is on the loose. He kills with out mercy or remorse, and his intentions are only known to him.
Notes: Part of an original fiction I'm considering rebooting, or at least attempting to continue. This is all I have so far, I'm going to try to plot everything out before I consider continuing this story fully.
Disclaimer: All characters are copyright to me. The work is solely my own and not to be used my anyone else.
The large man blew into his hands, the cold wind whispering by. His breath could be seen, as his beady brown eyes darted about. Rubbing his shoulders, he just stood on the side walk, waiting, but for what, no one would know.
Footsteps sounded from the alley nearby. Jumping, the fat man shook in his shoes, staring in the direction of the entrance. “Wh-who’s there?” No answer. “I-I must w-warn you. I am ar-armed.” This time, the presence laughed. Swallowing, he backed away, eyes going wide with fear.
“You?” A cool, calm voice laughed in the shadows, daring the large mass before it. “Armed? Aren’t you too much of a coward for weapons? With your business, one would think you too be unarmed, considering how much you like to get others to do your work for you, Harry.” A short, hooded figure slowly stepped into view. All that could be seen of his face was the small smirk on his lips. Green hair poked through the top of his hood, indicating a quick cover up. Held tightly in his right hand, the stranger held a long, blood stained pipe.
“I-I don’t know wh-what you’re t-talking about.” Harry stuttered, taking another step back in fear, eyes fixed on the bloodied weapon.
“Oh but you do Harry. You know very well what I’m talking about.” Pulling back the grey hood, the golden green eyes bore into Harry’s brown ones. “You know more then I do in fact.” Playing with his hair, the stranger was momentarily distracted giving Harry a chance to run, but he didn’t. Eyes fixed on the slim legs, and confident sneer. Green bangs falling over his eyes, he laughed as Harry pulled out his cell phone, his trembling hands making it almost fall to the ground.
In a flash, though, the fat man was the one on the ground, on his back. “You’re not going to get me that easily.” With that, the attacker stood, taking hold of Harry’s legs. With great effort, and plenty of grunting, he dragged his victim into the alley he’d come from.
“C’mon, Chris. Can’t we reach an understanding?” Harry begged, trying to pull away. When they stopped, Chris lowered himself, sitting on his ankles. Bouncing a few times, he seemed to consider the offer, eyes looking up towards the sky disinterestedly.
Though, the idea was quickly ceased as Chris stood, glaring at Harry, pipe in hand. “You didn’t try to reach and understanding with Lee, or all the others did you? Well you’re not going to get a chance either.”
With that, Chris raised the pipe above his head, beating the man’s body. Blood splashed where skin tore, and bone split through. The sound of crunching bones was sickening, agonizing cries pouring from the man’s throat only seemed to fuel Chris’ fire. He barely appeared to notice the disgusting sight of bone through skin, or the putrid smell of blood in the air.
“Now you know how it is to be low on the ladder of life, Harry.” Snickering, the small man gave a light kick to the stomach of the man sobbing before him, cocking his head to the side as the dress shirt rode up, revealing the bruises from his handiwork.
“Please stop.” Harry begged. “I have a wife and kids to think about. Don’t you?” Scowling, eyes narrowed, Chris kicked him once more, though more forcefully this time. With out a word, he continued his beating again, this time moving to the man’s head and face; jaw cracking, now breaking, lip splitting. Breathing deeply as the final blow was dealt to his victim; the killer gave the corpse one last kick to check if he was still alive.
Nodding, Chris leaned back against a nearby building, cursing himself. “And me with out a change of clothes,” he laughed, looking down at the bloodied pants and hoodie. Then again, this killing was unplanned. It was just a coincidence that while out getting the boys a treat, he come across the walking dough boy.
He was a man in the sex trade industry, who some time ago had tried to get someone close to Chris into that circle. Luckily for Chris, Lee wasn’t stupid, and would have none of it. It was unlucky for the guy, though, that at the first chance he got, Lee came back to Chris to tell the entire story of what had happened to him. Thus, leading the man into the situation he was in now; dead. And it served him right for messing with Chris’s circle of friends.
Pulling his bottle of water out, he poured some on his pants, trying to clean as much of the blood off before anyone came to look. Once enough was gone, he pulled his hoodie off, shaking his hair from his eyes. Pushing away from the wall, he began heading home, dragging the pipe behind him. “That was one of my more quick ones…” he murmured to himself, running a hand through his hair, taking a swig of what was left of his water.
Walking through the maze of apartments, Chris looked for his own, knowing his sons were going to be annoyed with their father. Carrying the bloodied hoodie behind himself, Chris sighed as he found his building. Careful not to be noticed, he entered, walking up stairs and along halls to his apartment. Before entering, he flipped the hoodie inside out, and checked to make sure he didn’t have any traces of the fight on him. Bloody end of the pipe covered by the hoodie, he entered, immediately greeted by joyous cries of his three sons. All of them surrounding him, big eyes staring up at their father, the fraternal triplets fought for his attention.
“Did you get the ice cream Daddy?” The little white haired one spoke with a slight whine.
“Sorry, Charlie, they were closed.” All three let out a cry of dismay, storming off. Shaking his head, the father walked off to the laundry room, pulling off his pants as he walked along. Once there, he threw them in the washer with his hoodie, considering throwing his tee-shirt in there too. Shrugging, he thought it best he did. It was time to clean up the evidence. In only his boxers, he carried himself to his room pipe in hand.
In reality, the store was open, but the opportunity was better then the ice cream. The boys would forgive him soon, and tomorrow he’d make it up to them by getting ice cream and candy. Not wise, but it was a treat to the patient boys. Even so, he had work tomorrow; the baby sitter could handle the disaster trio. “Damn blood stains…” Chris muttered to himself, setting the pole inside his closet. He had a hard time asking about a good laundry detergent for cleaning blood out. But who didn’t? Sighing, he massaged the bridge of his nose. He would need to start wearing black or white when going out to kill. Even if tonight was just a coincidence, he’d have to start running with his strategies more then instincts. If he didn’t, he was sure to get caught.
“Hey, Dad.” A brunet head poked its way into his room, not caring that Chris was in his underwear. “You going to read us our bed time story?”
“Yeah,” he laughed heartily. “Just give me a sec to pull on my pajamas. Make sure you and your brothers are ready, okay Gareth? I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
Nodding, the boy quickly ran off, leaving his father too finding his pajama bottoms in the mess of his room. Once found, the small man padded out of his room, laughing to himself. Whispers were coming from the boys’ room, just like every other night when they were doing something they shouldn’t. It seemed to be just another day for him.