Death's Bitter Embrace (#Wattys2015)

Act II, Chapter XVII: Death Will See You Now

Rory hunched over as a result of the blow to the ribs, he was a weak opponent, I've fought a lot better than him-he would become strong after all of his mate's decided to join in-but he and his 'tough-guy' mates wouldn't be any sort of problem for me, I had Alex. Cal wasn't much of a help, not that I needed it but he was ten feet away filming the whole thing.

"Should I whip 'er out" wanting to grab Angel out, I ask Alex while roundhouse kicking someone in the face-that would leave a nasty bruise-I practically had to shout as the music and the raucous was insanely loud, so was the fight.

Rory came at me with a fireplace wood poker, he swung it at my head but I was at least ten steps in front of him, I ducked out of the way and grabbed his arm. I didn't hesitate to snap his arm in two by pushing the palm of my hand up into his elbow I was pushing up as hard as I can. Rory stepped back and let his 'henchmen'-another word he and his mate's couldn't spell-do the work.

"Don't do it, you'll scare the absolute shit out of everyone and the police will have something on you, they'll interrogate you, it isn't worth it." Alex says softly, somehow I could hear her over the shit music and the sound of shattering bones.

I wanted to put Angel to the test agaisnt flesh, I wanted to test her out, much like a new car, I wanted to drive her-if anyone heard me say that aloud they would probably just run away as far as possible-this was exigent, I needed to test her, to test her limits, to see how far I could push her.

She was at least half the size of Raven, and much more nimble, Angel was hidden inside the pocket of my leather jacket, I could just take her out, flash her to the audience-yet another sentence that sounds terrible aloud-then put her back in my pocket, no-one would have any evidence that I was the one who did it. I was tempted to actually do it, but that can wait.

Angel's pale white blade shining in my black suit jacket. I grabbed her, Angel and I was just about to take her out and show her off when Alex's hand stopped me from doing so. She smiles and mouths the words 'not here, not now' while proceeding to backwards roundhouse kick Rory in the face.

She was taking great pleasure in doing so, kicking the living shit out of Rory could have been her pastime if she could do it more often. She was seizing her opportunity and she seized it well-never missing a beat, she had obviously crashed at least a dozen parties before this occasion. She was elegant, gracefully and most of all, she looked like a badass, how cliché, but I based my behaviour on clichés and surprisingly, in this day and age-it worked.

You know, some people say that I suffer from insanity and should be checked out, now, that may be so, but I don't suffer from my insanity, I enjoy it, I find it entertaining how a mind can be so fucked up. McDouchebag charges at me for the umpteenth time with only his fists-a fire poker didn't work so naturally the idiot uses something weaker: his fists.

He tries to crash his left fist into my cheekbone, but I punch his broken arm, making him cower, making him go all floppy, I then kicked the joint in between his calf and thigh making him crumble to his knees. I liked this, I was powerful, I was power hungry and this was feeding my appetite.

Yes, Rory was weak, but in retrospect, he was also very strong, strong minded, another word for his type of strong mindedness:
Stupidity; he wouldn't quit, he just kept coming like a freight train with no brakes, he knew he would lose, it was inevitable, but he kept trying to delay it. He had a broken arm, fractured jaw and a bruised cheekbone...oh and he'll never have kids but yet the naïve little shit wouldn't call it quits and I gave him merit for that.

The finale was just around the bend, the crowd hooked, on the edge of their seats rooting for either me, or Rory. In the red corner; Rory McDouchebag weighing in at 80 kilograms of pure muscle.
In the blue corner; the challenger, Dante Quill weighing at just 66 kilograms, this lightweight is sure to bring the behemoth down.

Rory lands his first punch of the night, yep, that's right just one, I had either punched, kicked or thrown him first, or countered every 'move' he threw at me. His first punch sat just below my cheekbone, so it didn't hurt much, not much at all.

Rory goes to roundhouse kick me in the ribs but I grab his leg and put it between my arm and my ribs so he can't kick me; I twist his leg counter clock-wise sending him to the ground in an instant, he was now a collapsed mess, almost every inch of his body covered in bruises, he was ready to give up-all his fury, his energy gone to shit-I tired him out.

I punch McDouchebag in the throat making it remarkably hard to breathe, "I may as well just finish him off now, take him to the Inferno and do as I please with him" I think, my conscious getting bored of the tiresome fighting to no prevail. I kick Rory's lets out from underneath him, tripping him backwards-as he fell like a two tonne rock I drive my hand into his mushy, bloody face knocking him out instantly.

My conscious was thanking me for ending the fight-mainly because it got bored and wanted to torture him-and I say 'it' because I don't think it is my conscious, I have what's known as MPD or otherwise known as: Multiple Personality Disorder, I was diagnosed the same time I was diagnosed as being clinically insane. But I had known since early age that I was insane, possibly even manic at some times.

I load Rory McDouchebag into the bright yellow Lotus and start driving to the Inferno, my Inferno, Dante's Inferno. "This was going to be...fun" I think—not my conscious, this was me, all me—with a cynical smile on my face.