VAGUE

CHAPTER 9 (PART 3)

CHAPTER 9

-PART THREE-

-STORY OF TRES DIABLOS-

-MEETING THE DEMON-

The trail of blood grew thicker, paling his skin to a translucent white. With each tick of the clock he wanted his opponent's heart to stop, just stop, to watch its eyes become glossy and vacant. The blood of his last victim had begun to dry, more brownish than scarlet.

It was no longer human.

More likely, anytime that devil gets in his head, always on about the hating and entitlements, the blame game and the shame. To the monster his opponent was just a meat, a simple matter to be consumed once the fear had consumed him.

That is a monster.

That is all of his monsters.

He sees them for a utility, to meet an addiction or need he have and to him their needs are nothing. So when he is regarded this way he re-guard, and he should. What and whom he loves is worth protecting, including the self. He lifted his head in confusion, needing to ascertain what the hell was making that noise. He knew it was the creature, but he had to make sure. He didn't. But he wanted to.

And he'd already strained himself enough that whether he placed it back into the dirt or not, he would be as visible as if he took a look. And so he did. He saw the thing, heard its snapping and its new whining. He saw it rearing up, spinning in circles.

He saw his demon

None fitting the previous line's attempts at order. As it reared up and bellowed it's many cries, Every time it cried, it did this elongation, or every time it elongated it cried. He couldn't be sure, but he relished in the idea that the beast was uncomfortable in its body. He gained some solace in that fact.

In that empty scream is the pain of the indifferent, of a monster who sold its soul for ease and instead found hell. It can wrap itself in beautiful skin or the rancid hide of the decaying creatures of the abyss, yet he sees it regardless of disguise. He played dead for a while. The only way to describe the monster was a bipedal complete absence of light. It wasn't just blackness; it was nothing at all. He cast no shadow, made no noise and gave off no odor. But if he targeted you he would seize you by the he wanted, he could not be followed. The rest of what everyone know is guess work from the remains of his victims. He seems to torture them like a demon who saw a human on its first. The body appear to be no signs of attack, no bruises, no cuts yet a gunshot with no bullet inside, very neatly. His monster rises from the depth of the darkness, muttering unheard words. Covered in scars from the past, carrying the sort of scythe. A tangled mess of arms and faces with one mission, as he looks into those soul-less eyes he realize that his monster is the darker side of himself.

Waiting for a biological push, a greedy motivation, a meanness, a desire for power, then comes his push to go further, to do more damage, sickly sweet and addictive. He creates the choice, he forms the negative intention, all he do is to help his allies along the path toward becoming a demon.

Care when others hurt?

Do you still care if to do so lost you money or power or prestige?

Do keep losing integrity, being afraid to see what you've become,

What he become?

because though he cannot make a world, there's nothing quite like destroying them as if it was all paper-cut

(pay-per-cut) at a time.

The hijack of the so-called karma system was his best hack yet. The fear keeps everyone a primitive and lusting for revenge and status. The greed keeps destroying Earth as everyone pray for salvation.