Strange stories

Sathanas

The sight of fire.
The smell of smoke, and charring flesh.
The night sky itself is turning red from the blaze of the buildings.
People everywhere. Little of them actually alive. All lying in pools of blood and debris.

Many dogs barking.

A lone man with tan skin, black hair and a business suit stumbles down the street clutching his limp and heavily bleeding arm. Sweat is falling off of his forehead in liters and his black polished shoes are dripping with blood. He is breathing in large gasps. Exhausted. The man arduously passes through an intersection. Cars in pileups with their drivers on the asphalt beside them. All of the corpses have the skin of their faces missing and necks bit open. Blood is pooling in large puddles everywhere. So gruesome it almost looked fake, as if it was engineered to be terrible beyond measure.
"Santa merda..." the man says under his breath. He keeps stumbling through the intersection and reaches a smaller street with less cars. The italian man has to pull his limp leg up onto the sidewalk. His sleeve is stained deep crimson.

Barking.
The sound of dogs running getting louder.

The man freezes for a moment before quickly looking around. "Shit!" He angrily whispers. The italian quickly stumbles towards an alleyway in between the buildings. His arm is dripping blood. In the alley he finds a large green dumpster surrounded by smoldering trash. The stench is almost unbearable. More barking, closer now. The man lifts the lid on one side slowly, needing to prop himself up by his elbow to get it open fully. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!" He steps onto some of the extinguished trash and pulls himself over the lip of the dumpster. He lands in the dumpster with a muffled thud and then lid falls shut. He immediately pinches his nose shut. The echo of the lid falling reverberates in the italian's ears for a second. Barking one street down. The man notices a small pinprick hole in the front of the dumpster, formed by the trash outside burning the dumpster. The man breathes a few gasps, then his breath catches. Sniffing and stepping outside of the dumpster. The italian holds his breath. Through the hole he can barely make out the fur of several large dogs quickly passing by. The sniffing continues. One of the dogs sniffs some of the smoldering trash too closely and yelps when his nose burns. The italian can hear another dog step away then bite something soft and wet. The italian is starting to panic, his breath is not holding well. His heart is racing. The dogs continue sniffing and stepping and chewing until a far away barking causes them all to stop. Another bark and the pack before the dumpster peel out of the alley, barking and whining. The man exhales deeply and lays his head back breathing slowly through his mouth.

A while later the italian carefully lifts the lid of the dumpster and peers out. His head is drifting from side to side and his vision has become cloudy. His arm is still bleeding. In the dumpster he has found some wood and used the plastic of trash bags to splint his foot. The pain has given him a headache. When nothing catches his eye he laboriously makes his way out of the dumpster. The trash has stopped smoldering. He is very grateful to steal a gasp of fresher air. The fires have calmed a bit and the smoke is hanging less densely in the air. He glares out of the alleyway before hurriedly stumbling out into the street. Once out he can see the faintest glimmer of sunlight kissing the horizon in the distance. As he slowly makes his way down the street he becomes aware that some of the corpses are indeed those of the hounds that are roaming the city. Black and brown and vicious. Most of the dogs are malnourished and have their ribs and bones visible. Others have gunshot wounds and knives in their backs. They look like dogs escaped out of the backyard of the devil himself. The only thing all of the hounds corpses have in common is a white foam pouring out of their mouths. The italian man thinks to himself as he passes by a pile of human and dogs corpses :"What kind of sick bastard trains dogs to chew off faces and plant bombs only to kill themselves after the job is done. This is cruelty on an unprecedented scale.". The man looses his balance and stumbles to the left. He props himself up on the only standing lamp pole on the street. The man breathes heavily for a bit, then pulls a red and green pill out of his dirty jacket. He swallows it dry. His face scrunches up and then relaxes. He breathes deeply one more time and then trods on.

At the next intersection the man stops for a bit to catch his breath again near a pile of debris, his head feeling much clearer and his eyesight having returned a bit. His arm has stopped bleeding and the pill took away the pain from his injuries. He mentally checks his path. He is a few streets away from the auto parts shop where he keeps his helicopter stowed away. He breathes deeply and then tries to stumble forward, but falls flat onto his face instead. His foot caught.

It was being yanked.

The italian spins around to be greeted by a black dog with his foot firmly in its maw. "Argh! Fanculo!" the man yells in pain. Its eyes are evil pure black orbs. The dog has a bit of foam dribbling out of its mouth as it is hunched over using its full strength to bite and yank his ankle. The man yells and curses as he punches and kicks the dog on the snout. No effect. He tries again. Ans again. Punch after punch has no effect on the dog other than making it slower. The man keeps slugging and kicking the dog over and over and over and over. His arm starts to go limp from exhaustion and his good leg as well. Bits of flesh and skin tear off of the face of the almost undead dog. Bone and cartilage are becoming more exposed with every punch. The yanking and biting start to taper off in intensity. Finally, exhausted the dog slumps over, half of its head bashed in by the italian's fist. Its mouth expels a bit more foam. The smell of it hits the italian's nose first. Cyanide. The italian sits up on his knees and tries to stand up, but his ankle is destroyed. He falls back to the floor. Standing is out of the question. Maybe he should-

A cold metal barrel is placed against the back of his head. His breath catches. A terrifyingly familiar voice from behind him bites into his ears :

" There's no place on this planet for any more criminals. If we had met in a different life I am sure we could have been great partners."

The italian's eyes widen. His life is playing out before his eyes. Each word he hears spoken feels like ice chilling his blood. Chills run down his spine. A drop of sweat drips off of his face. A click from the gun. The italian stops trembling for a moment.

"Sathanas. Anche il portatore della morte mi prende anche. Make it quick, please."

Bang.

The corpse falls forward onto it's face with a disgusting squish. Behind it, a man with shoulder length and straight jet black hair in a beige suit is standing with a golden snub nose revolver in his hand. Engraved in black into its barrel are the words "Lay peacefully". One of his two eyepatches is flipped up to reveal a bright blue eye staring into the back of the corpse. His white shirt is stained with small blood speckles. He seems saddened. The man in the beige suit turns to his side to stand over the corpse of the dog. Fresh foam is still coming from its mouth. He bends over and gently pets it on the back. "I'm sorry. " he whispers to the dog's corpse.
Above and behind him he hears a buzzing and then a bright spotlight illuminates him. The man in the beige suit turns to a large news drone with its cameras trained right on him but he looks down. He sighs before his mouth begins to twitch. He flips his eyepatch down over his good eye once more . Painfully his mouth begins to twist into a malicious grin. He can feel the tendons in his face strain to bring the corners of his mouth ever closer to his ears.

With a grin to shock God he greets the news drone's cameras. All over the world the live feed of him standing over the corpse of the dog and the italian appear on televisions and phones and screens.

The devil has struck again.
Sathanas.