07-09-2016, 10:25 PM
She was staring at the video screen. The hadal had reached the piled sewer pipes. He was pulling himself upright before the dark, round openings. The video screen showed him forty feet tall. His bare rib cage, scored with old wounds and ritual markings; bucked in quick, pumping waves. The creature was vocalizing, that much was evident.
Sandwell went over and rotated the round button on the wall. The audio feed came over the speakers. It sounded like the hooting and huffing of a captured ape. A face had appeared at the mouth of one sewer pipe. Then other faces surfaced at other openings. Crusted and wet with their own filth, they came out from their cement burrows and fell upon the ground at the hadal's feet. There were only nine or ten of them left. The hadal's voice changed. He was singing now, or praying. Beseeching or offering. To his own image, of all things. To the video screen. The others, women and their young, began to ululate.
'What's he doing?' Still singing, the hadal took a child from one of the females and cradled it in his arms. He made a sacramental motion, as if tracing ashes on its head or throat, it was hard to see. Then he set the child aside and took another that was held up to him and repeated his gesture.
'He's cutting their throats,' January realized.
'What!'
'Is that a knife?'
'Glass,' said Foley.
'Where did he get glass?' Cooper roared at the general. An emaciated female stood before the butcher hadal. She cast her head back and opened her arms
wide and it took her killer a minute to find the artery and saw her throat open. A second female stood. Voice by voice, their song was dying.
'Stop him,' Cooper shouted at Sandwell. 'The bastard's killing off my pack.' But it was too late.
Love is duty. He took in the crook of his arm his own son, as cold as a pebble. He cried out the
name of the messiah. Weeping, he made the cut and held his final child while it bled down his
breast. At last he was free to join his own blood with theirs.
Sandwell went over and rotated the round button on the wall. The audio feed came over the speakers. It sounded like the hooting and huffing of a captured ape. A face had appeared at the mouth of one sewer pipe. Then other faces surfaced at other openings. Crusted and wet with their own filth, they came out from their cement burrows and fell upon the ground at the hadal's feet. There were only nine or ten of them left. The hadal's voice changed. He was singing now, or praying. Beseeching or offering. To his own image, of all things. To the video screen. The others, women and their young, began to ululate.
'What's he doing?' Still singing, the hadal took a child from one of the females and cradled it in his arms. He made a sacramental motion, as if tracing ashes on its head or throat, it was hard to see. Then he set the child aside and took another that was held up to him and repeated his gesture.
'He's cutting their throats,' January realized.
'What!'
'Is that a knife?'
'Glass,' said Foley.
'Where did he get glass?' Cooper roared at the general. An emaciated female stood before the butcher hadal. She cast her head back and opened her arms
wide and it took her killer a minute to find the artery and saw her throat open. A second female stood. Voice by voice, their song was dying.
'Stop him,' Cooper shouted at Sandwell. 'The bastard's killing off my pack.' But it was too late.
Love is duty. He took in the crook of his arm his own son, as cold as a pebble. He cried out the
name of the messiah. Weeping, he made the cut and held his final child while it bled down his
breast. At last he was free to join his own blood with theirs.
Don't hesitate to AM(A)A
The bigger you build the bonfire, the more darkness is revealed.
Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore be demanded back the next hour.
The bigger you build the bonfire, the more darkness is revealed.
Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore be demanded back the next hour.