Wrath's Agony

Wrath's Cinders

He had been waiting for hours now. Belial was almost starting to believe, that they chickened out.
But, before he could finish and hold onto that thought, three men, accompanied by the boss entered the room.

"These. Boy. Are my personnal bodyguards."

"Perfect. Then let's take this outside, where we can actually see more than just the tip of our noses."

John scoffed at the idea. But the grunts seemed to approve. Vaenatt couldn't quite make them out. So he would have to wait until he got outside to understand. What he was going up against.
They quickly escorted him outside, into an open plain. The light became blinding, this was a familiar feeling. He smiled, and relished that feeling. As he felt the burning hatred inside of him.

"So? When are w-..."

Not even was his sentence finished, that a bullet traversed his leg. He felt the cold, blood stained metal touch the back of his head, and his throat. A knife. Or a sickle, was placed onto his neck. He was guessing a rifle, for the weapon. Judging by the power of the blow.

"Lesson number one. We never fight fair."

'Now Belial.'

The bullet traversed his skull, exiting through his mouth, lodging itself into the now bloodied soil.
He could hear the steps behind him. Three men were leaving. Judging by the weight. It was the three idiots. He cocked back a smile as the devilish purple flames rose from his wounds. Melting his skin and bones back together. He rose from what was going to become his early grave. And looked at the once again dumbfounded mafia.

"What? Leaving so soon? I'm just getting. Warmed. Up."

Panicking, the grunts shot half of a dozen rounds. The first two dug into the young man's flesh. The next four, were reduced to ashes, before they could even graze his skin.
Their confident and smug smiles had been replaced by utter fear, as they were realizing, probably for the first time in their lives. They were about to become the prey.

He could now make them out. An African American man. And two rather typical caucasian men. They weren't out of the ordinary.
Some might say rather cliche.

'He underestimated us. Vaenatt.'
'I knew you could use my name! That being said. Why don't we show them. The error of their ways?'
'Quit it. Or I might make a liking to you boy.'

Once again, he smiled. The Mauvish colored flames had started to grow slightly bigger. He extended a hand forward, and a bolt of ash and fire dashed toward the first soul. The flames danced around the man's body.
It's skeletal, hand like aspects grasping onto the very soul of the being. Coiling itself around him like a snake choking it's dinner.
In less than a dozen of seconds. The macabre spectacle was over. Nothing was left of the body but ash and calcinated, blackened bones.
The flames retracted back to the boy's now charcoal like clothes, that crumbled at his very movement. His arms displayed the tattoos burnt into his skin, his darkened eyes then locked onto his prey.
He was a little smaller than the previous target. But his muscles and shoulders were much more developped. So. The demonic duo decided to take a different approach.
They picked up the dead man's knife out of the ashes, as the two men started firing more and more rounds. Unloading clips and clips of ammo. All, reduced to nothing by the demonic flames.
He approached the man. His innocent but deadly smile orning his face. Blade in hand, he then put up a simple dash fowards. Plunging the knife into the man's abdomen. Blood gushed out of the pierced artery, painting the fresh grass of a bright red. The now defensless human, put his gun point blank onto Vaenatt's heart, and shot. The bullet pierced. But not a single drop of blood had been spilt.

"To shoot a heart. One must have one left. Don't you think?"

Indeed. During his seemingly eternal wait for purgatory. Vaenatt's body had undergone drastic changes. Notably. The loss and movement of certain organs. The heart was no longer in the same spot. As it was on a constant move during the use of his demonic energy. The sentence was to make him seem invulnerable.

'Edge lord.'
'Shut up Belial. Humans are easy to manipulate when it comes to what they don't understand. Let me do my part.'

His flames gushed from his hand, and into the blade. The man's, now corpse, glowed a dim, and dark purple. The flames eampaged through the man's body, reducing his organs to nothing but a gooey mush. That trickled out of the open wound.
He let down the knife's handle, revealing the molten blade. He pointed to the remaining goon, and said.

"Consider yourself lucky I don't use you as a stool like I did your friends. Be grateful and remember that when you sleep next to your wife tonight."

Vaenatt felt the rush of adrenaline course through his body once more. It was exilerating.
He turned his body around, and walked up to John, that had drawn his weapon. Pointing it in Vaenatt's direction.

'Kill him.'
'No, he'll prove useful. I'll kill him when the time is right.'

"I'm afraid you underestimated me. These idiots aren't your best men. And you're lucky they weren't, I wouldn't have held back. As for you. John."

Vaenatt raised his hands. The wounds had healed. But. Unlike all of the other wounds, he had kept the two scars.

"I'll keep these as a reminder, that you are on a short fuse. Don't forget that either."

He turned to the mob boss, flames at the ready.

"Meet me in the bar your goons kidnapped me from when you've made up your mind. I'm staying there. And bring me a new suit. You have two days."

And just like that. The duo left, leaving in their sillage, nothing but Cinder. Shame. And hatred. And he could smell, and feel all of them.