The Mind of Hannibal Kyle
No one gives a damn about Kyle. Not yet, anyway. No one even knows my first name; I buried it along with my worthless fake parents. Fake parents--I've always called them that, always ben totally sure that they were never my real parents. Especially since my hair is red, and both of them had brown hair. Especially since I have poweres, and they were both weaklings. They proved that when they died, crying and pleading and clutching each other like babes to a teet. And speaking of teets...
The thought of pale, bare breasts pulls me back to a small, black-painted room in the present. Laying before me on a steel folding table, dimly lit by flame, is a young girl; I think she's fourteen. Christine Gallagher, ningth grade. her weak biceps and chicken thighs are tied with heavy-duty ropes, secure to the table with C-clamps. Her legs are forced open, her arem spread wide, looking for all the world like she's haveing the fuck of ther life. he's even sweating like a pig, dark wavy hair plastered to her face, exhausted sobs pouring from her swollen lips. And she's ben screaming for a half hour...and rightly so. I unwrap my hands from the the scorched remains of her feet, smoldering black masses of burnt flesh. I did that, with my power; I can make fire. After a second of savoring my work, I speak to her.
"I'm sorry, all the nerves in your feet seemm to have been burned away. I'll have to start somewhere more sensitive..."
The little bitch's sobs come fast and hard now, stuggling to find words between ragged coughs. She begs me to let her go, promises she won't tell a soul. It's already too late, doesn't the dumb cunt know that? Can't she figure it out with her prestigious Catholic School brain? The stupid little preppy logo of the Oglethorpe Academy for Girls looks like the fucking FDA Seal of Approval as I unwrap her blazer, peel away her blouse, snap open her bra to free her prematurely plump and perky breasts. She changes tack quickly as she realizes what I'm about to do. Maybe not so dumb.
"Wait! Wait! I can do anything you want! I...I'll have sex wih you! All you want; you don't even have to tie me up anymore! V-v-virgin pussy is the best thing, r-r-right? D-don't you want to p-pop my cherry?"
She's pleading desperately, and I stare at her flushed face absentmindedly, pretending she's caught my attention. I take my time fondling her breasts, sampling the soft skin, toying with the pink nipples.
"You can't stay a virgin forever."
"B-b-but I can...I can bring you more girls! More little girls just like me, I can bring them straight to you; they'd love to talk to a older boy! Or one of the senior girls, you'll like them; they have...um, experience, and...and...bigger boobs! Bigger boobs than me!"
I stick a nipple in my mouth while I think about it. The dumb broad actually thinks she can talk her way out of Death, avoid the Unavoidable, sneak away from the fires of Hell itself. Christine groans like a birthing cow, trying to please me. What a cunt, and I thought she looked so innocent...my lips pop off her tit to form her death sentence.
"Mmmmmm...Nah!"
With utter deviant delight, I pinch both nipples between the thumb and index fingers fo both hands, and flame pours form the fingers, melting away flesh adn sering the fatty tissues of her breasts like forks in butter. Fresh screams illuminate the dark little room, and I'm pretty sure my eyes are blazing red, just like that night. It's the screams. Not just short little yelps, but the prolonged, unrelenting scream derived from constant agony. Just like the night Malachai and Elain Kayle burned to death in their home, and their dirty little shack came tumbling after. Only it's not just screams issuing form Christine Gallagher's filthy little cockhole now. She's flinging a broken stream of random curses at me like the stupid little anklebiter she is.
"Fucking bastard damn fuckface! I hope you fucking die! I hope you fucking burn in hell and Satan ass-rapes you with a burning tree!"
I untangle my fingers from the bubbling flesh now; the only problem with great tits is all that mamary fat burns fast.
"I hope you get fucking face-fucked by big spiky demons--aaarrgh!"
She barks like a dog when I smack her across the jaw, squeals like a stuck pig when I wrap a hand around her throat.
"Big spiky demons? Who the fuck to you think you're dealing with? You think I'm afraid of Hell? It's Hell that's hiding fom me baby cakes; they wouldn't let me in if I filled out an application."
Even as I speake, I feel my tongue splitting, my teeth lengthening, little bumps growing out of my skull. I know I'm the Devil's advocate, and now I must look the part. Christine is struck dumb, paralyzed with terror. I love that saying, paralyzed with terror.
"I'm the son of Satan, himself, bitch. God's not going to swoop down with angels and save you. You get a free ticket straight to...what do you call it? Hell!"
Christine's hoarse voice is working again, spitting out rapid Latin. I laugh out loud at the irony. Now? She picks this moment to pray?
"Aaaaawwwww. Is that a Hail Mary? For me?" Once agian, she's struck dumb, pure indignation replacing her fear as she glares at me. "Oh, for you. Carry on then."
I rip apart her skirt. I can't even contain myself now; my hand is already alight, and I burn off her soiled white panties. Christine has finally realized what comes next, how it will end, and arches her back to scream her greivance at the heavens. I thrust two flaming fingers into her waiting chalice, then my whole hand, burning and boiling deep inside Catherine Gallagher while every last inch of her shrieks to the cruciating end.