Castraious

prologue

{ chapter 00: prologue }

With the sinful satisfaction of his coarse palms against the soft curves of his victim's neck, the devilish man whispered into the cold October night. A frail, raspy hymn he sang.

"Amen, my Lord," he finished.

Between the dominant palms, a boy. A rawboned casualty who's neck pulsed under the skintight hold, serving no intention of pleading. Even after being beaten for a reason unknown to me.

The man waited for his appetent cry for help. A whimper from the so-called "higher power" would thrust in a kind of immortal reward through his thick veins. "My God, I ask for your forgiveness beforehand."

Betraying the religion, the feeble boy grinned nefariously, "Are you killing me for yourself or for your savior?"

Annoyed by the disrespectful comment, the once perceptible Adam's apple was flattened by the older man's dirt-stained thumbnails.

A pungent metallic taste pervaded the moist setting of the boy's mouth; the piercing ring encouraged the offset vision, while the lack of oxygen smeared his consciousness. He'd let the act of notion bore him.

"I thought you'd be different, but you can't kill me. You're just like the rest of them," he hummed uncomfortably under the bloodstained palms, "I'll show you a God."

The man obligated to the vial voices that pierced through his sacred skull. His massive hands reversed their action, relentlessly upholding the boy's mental commands.

He fought against it, yet it consumed him. Darkness washed over his thoughts and beliefs. His hands carried the weight of his neck, clutching on tighter, and quicker than before. His eyes bulged and his face plunged in stinging pain. "Where's your God now?"

The man's wish of repentance visibly washed away, and his casualty was no longer impatient for sovereignty. For he too, found the immortal satisfaction in overdramatize supremacy.

The gaunt boy clung to the wall, one hand propelled into the thick, white coated air. A gesticulation endorsing a bone popping echo from the man's throat.

The two hundred pound male fell defunct.

The satisfied casualty placed a cigarette between his blood covered lips with an approving smile, "Where was he, your God?"

Taking in a drawn out puff of nicotine, he looked up, "He's right here."