Vicious Circle

Vicious Circle

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Tragedy

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language and mature themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: "Killer Instinct" is a property belonging to Rareware and Microsoft while "Injustice" is a property owned by NetherRealm Studios and Warner Bros. I do not own these characters.

"The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls."

- Edgar Allan Poe

The pain was unbearable, gnawing at him constantly.

Glowing green eyes peeled open as Baron Konrad Von Sabrewulf dazedly winced at the surgical lamp that shone directly over him, its light blinding him. Twisting his lupine features, he made a series of grimaces as nausea set in, resisting the urge to throw up.

Looking dazedly around, the Baron struggled to stay awake, his bleary vision having trouble adjusting as he faded in and out of consciousness.

Once or twice he heard some mutterings, and occasionally he would spot white phantom-like visions flitting across his vision whenever he awoke.

Once or twice, Konrad had uttered a bestial scream, but pain was a constant presence, an unwelcome companion that visited him often.

When he finally regained consciousness, he found himself alone in a white prison cell, lying spread-eagled on a long gurney, his furry barrel-shaped chest rising and falling with every painful breath he took. Every part of him ached and burned, the agony so overwhelming that he wanted it all to end.

It was then that he suddenly became aware of something odd.

'My arms! Why-Why can't I-'

Something was wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong!

Turning his head ever so slowly to the side, Konrad dreaded to see what greeted him.

When he finally saw the abominable work on him, he became completely still, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing as he gazed upon his "limb".

Flesh, fur and bone had been entirely stripped away, replaced with a series of interlocked steel plates riveted together into a newly-created "arm". But what made it even more abominable to Konrad, insulting even, though, were the six-inch metallic talons that had been welded at the tips of his "fingers".

Staring at the metal claws, a feeling of loathing and resentment formed within the aristocrat as he regarded his new "limbs", his blood boiling with fury, his body wracked with pain.

'Bastards!' He growled. 'Those fucking-!'

Clenching his teeth, he agitatedly flared his nostrils, wanting to lash out, wanting to curse - no, scream - in indignant rage.

As Konrad struggled within his restraints, his long pointed ears suddenly twitched as he heard footsteps approaching, causing him to freeze.

He listened to the footfalls as they came closer, until finally they stopped just outside his door.

"Hello, Sergeant," he heard an all-too familiar voice speak, the voice causing his pulse to race, his body tensing.

"Sir!" He heard a guard salute outside, his voice distorted by his gas mask's filter.