Re: LAST. THING. STANDING. [S!1][ROUND ONE: TELEVISION LAND]
12-07-2011, 08:15 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by WaveOfBabies.
Rrrrrrrip!
The sound of claws digging into wood indicated to Ablendan that his leap of faith was a success. He looked down, a sea of grey underneath him, rising up and thrashing in a thirst to get a piece of him. For a brief while, the instinct to just let go passed through Ablendan's head. No pain these horrid creatures could put him through would be anywhere near as bad as the horrors Beelzebub forced him through on a daily basis.
However, this thought was quickly overwhelmed by another thought: the thought to feed. It had been at least a week, these sick bastards at the deathmatch seeming to catch him at his most ravenous for the sake of their entertainment. Not that Ablendan minded the deathmatch too much, anyway. It was kill or be killed, and both of those fields happened to meet his mutual interests. He dug his claws out of the wooden walls of the house he had leaped onto and scrambled to the roof, preparing to break open a hole.
~~~~
Father Pedro and Richard Silas continued thinning the herds, clenching their shotguns tightly. However, eventually a loud sound began to trouble them. THUD. THUD.
"The Hell is that?" Richard snarled, aiming his gun all around. Father Pedro covered his flank, making sure there were no zombies breaking into the house. Little did they know, there was something much worse than a zombie after them. The banging noise continued, until eventually it stopped with a loud crack. Some chips of roof tiling fell down, but nothing too major.
"Is that . . . roof tiling?" asked Father Pedro, looking confused. "Mios dios, those things must have gotten on the roof somehow. But . . . how?" Humorously enough, even big tough Max looked nervous at this announcement, as all four survivors began to aim their guns at the roof.
After the brief pause, the banging noise continued. It sounded harder than last time, as if the roof could crack at any minute. It creaked and groaned, eventually shattering under the force of the creature on top slamming with all of the force he could muster. In a panic the four survivors fired, hoping to hit their mark as their vision was clouded in a plume of sawdust, smoke, and the occasional burst of static.
For a while, all was still. That is, of course, until the haggard figure of Ablendan Blake stood, bloody bile leaking from a few bullet holes. The flies of Beelzebub quickly plugged the wounds, the creaking of bones heard as Ablendan looked around. The survivors, horrified, backed up as they hastily reloaded their guns. Ablendan eyed the fresh bandages of Max, his hunger growing, as the pathetically small remains of his humanity urged him to mouth one word. "Run."
If only the survivors took his advice. A split second after his warning Ablendan charged, running on all fours for extra speed as he tackled Max like a furious linebacker. In a brutal movement his bandaged stomach was torn into by long, jagged claws, the other survivors shouting in indignant fury. Katie seemed the most angered of all, grabbing a hot poker from the house's fireplace and rushing right at Ablendan. <font color="#ff00ff">"You'll pay for that, you . . . you . . . MONSTER!" she screamed, as she prepared to spear Ablendan right in the head.
The flies did not take too kindly to this. Buzzing furiously, some of them rushed Katie, biting her with mandibles that burned like Hell's flame. She shrieked as she tried to swat them off, but slowly more began to overwhelm her despite her frantic efforts. Father Pedro and Silas tried to take aim at Ablendan, but it seemed a living wall of flies guarded the demonic servant at all times.</font>
Richard could barely believe what he was seeing. He trembled with fear, his aim wild and unsteady, and weak sobs could be heard coming from him. Normal zombies he could handle. They were slow, stupid, and died when you shot them. But this beast, who didn't even seem like he belonged? He was just something else. His resolve was slowly shattering, and he seemed like he would break ranks and run at any second.
On the other hand, Father Pedro remained calm. He was the most experienced zombie hunter of the group by far and had seen things that would make even Max break into tears. In his youth he had taken on the worst infestations, such as the El Paso Zombie Orphanage incident. But his time as the hero was gone: now he was the old mentor figure, and there was one job every old mentor had to fulfill. He put a hand on Richard's shoulder and assured him, "It isn't too late, nino. Aim for the head, they all fall like that."
Richard weakly nodded, as Father Pedro lifted Katie's fallen hot poker and his own shotgun. "Yo te destierro al infierno de donde saliste!" he shouted as he ran, the flies swarming him as he frantically swung and shot at them. His struggling was much more successful than Katie's, which had devolved into weakly crawling and pleading for help, and more flies began to swarm onto him to try and put the old preacher down. This left enough of a gap in the thick swarm cloud to leave Ablendan's head barely visible. Quivering with fear, he lifted his shotgun and pressed the trigger, closing his eyes. BANG.
Ablendan collapsed, right onto the bled-out corpse of Max. A gunshot wound, full of pus and bile, was visible through the hole shot in Ablendan's hood. The flies immediately flew off of Katie and Father Pedro, the former weakly standing. She ran to Richard's side, hugging him, as the two bowed their heads in sorrow at the sight of their deceased friends. Katie, her spirit shattered by this night, buried her head into Richard's shoulder and began to cry. "Its over," commented Richard, shaking his head sadly. "But at what cost?" This would be the point where the credits roll in any other movie, ending the cliche tale of these cliche survivors. In this case, however, a horrible cracking noise was heard.
Ablendan stood, blood leaking from his gunshot wound, as he dizzily eyed the duo. His claws were reddened with fresh blood, as his mouth spread into a crazed smile. He had killed twice, and until he could properly feed he was in a frenzy of bloodlust. He hunched over for a second before pouncing at the two, eyes crazed and fangs beared. The moans of zombies punctuated the frenzy of ripping and tearing heard from inside the house.
~~~~
A satisfied Ablendan sat, licking his claws clean as he eyed the cleanly-picked skeletons sitting around him. The female had tasted the best, but beggars couldn't be choosers. And with a four-dish buffet being torn down in minutes, Ablendan was actually in a surprisingly good mood. He let out a content sigh as he stood, noticing the television. The screen was at first nothing but static, but soon began to shift from program to program.
Ablendan looked at the television, curious. He had never seen anything like it in his time, and was too busy gnawing the bars of his cage to pay attention to any announcer-given explanations. He walked up and touched it with a finger, and much to his surprise it passed right through. He jumped back with surprise, before shaking his head and steeling his resolve. Taking a few steps back, he rushed the TV and dove right into its screen.
~~~~
Another mess of black and white. The persistent lack of color in both his previous setting and new setting was the first thing Ablendan noticed. But this area seemed a lot more pleasant than the last, and contained none of that annoying black film grain. As Ablendan looked down, he noticed with much curiosity that his tattered robe was replaced by a business suit. He also had a briefcase in his hands. Discarding the briefcase but not bothering with the suit, he slowly walked forward until he bumped into a door.
Door? What the hell was going on? His hunger sated for now, animal-like curiosity took over as he ripped the door off of its hinges with his massive claws. A cue card was painted on the wall, and with much confusion in his voice he slowly sounded it out. "Hi, honey, I'm home?"
Mortals were so strange.
Rrrrrrrip!
The sound of claws digging into wood indicated to Ablendan that his leap of faith was a success. He looked down, a sea of grey underneath him, rising up and thrashing in a thirst to get a piece of him. For a brief while, the instinct to just let go passed through Ablendan's head. No pain these horrid creatures could put him through would be anywhere near as bad as the horrors Beelzebub forced him through on a daily basis.
However, this thought was quickly overwhelmed by another thought: the thought to feed. It had been at least a week, these sick bastards at the deathmatch seeming to catch him at his most ravenous for the sake of their entertainment. Not that Ablendan minded the deathmatch too much, anyway. It was kill or be killed, and both of those fields happened to meet his mutual interests. He dug his claws out of the wooden walls of the house he had leaped onto and scrambled to the roof, preparing to break open a hole.
~~~~
Father Pedro and Richard Silas continued thinning the herds, clenching their shotguns tightly. However, eventually a loud sound began to trouble them. THUD. THUD.
"The Hell is that?" Richard snarled, aiming his gun all around. Father Pedro covered his flank, making sure there were no zombies breaking into the house. Little did they know, there was something much worse than a zombie after them. The banging noise continued, until eventually it stopped with a loud crack. Some chips of roof tiling fell down, but nothing too major.
"Is that . . . roof tiling?" asked Father Pedro, looking confused. "Mios dios, those things must have gotten on the roof somehow. But . . . how?" Humorously enough, even big tough Max looked nervous at this announcement, as all four survivors began to aim their guns at the roof.
After the brief pause, the banging noise continued. It sounded harder than last time, as if the roof could crack at any minute. It creaked and groaned, eventually shattering under the force of the creature on top slamming with all of the force he could muster. In a panic the four survivors fired, hoping to hit their mark as their vision was clouded in a plume of sawdust, smoke, and the occasional burst of static.
For a while, all was still. That is, of course, until the haggard figure of Ablendan Blake stood, bloody bile leaking from a few bullet holes. The flies of Beelzebub quickly plugged the wounds, the creaking of bones heard as Ablendan looked around. The survivors, horrified, backed up as they hastily reloaded their guns. Ablendan eyed the fresh bandages of Max, his hunger growing, as the pathetically small remains of his humanity urged him to mouth one word. "Run."
If only the survivors took his advice. A split second after his warning Ablendan charged, running on all fours for extra speed as he tackled Max like a furious linebacker. In a brutal movement his bandaged stomach was torn into by long, jagged claws, the other survivors shouting in indignant fury. Katie seemed the most angered of all, grabbing a hot poker from the house's fireplace and rushing right at Ablendan. <font color="#ff00ff">"You'll pay for that, you . . . you . . . MONSTER!" she screamed, as she prepared to spear Ablendan right in the head.
The flies did not take too kindly to this. Buzzing furiously, some of them rushed Katie, biting her with mandibles that burned like Hell's flame. She shrieked as she tried to swat them off, but slowly more began to overwhelm her despite her frantic efforts. Father Pedro and Silas tried to take aim at Ablendan, but it seemed a living wall of flies guarded the demonic servant at all times.</font>
Richard could barely believe what he was seeing. He trembled with fear, his aim wild and unsteady, and weak sobs could be heard coming from him. Normal zombies he could handle. They were slow, stupid, and died when you shot them. But this beast, who didn't even seem like he belonged? He was just something else. His resolve was slowly shattering, and he seemed like he would break ranks and run at any second.
On the other hand, Father Pedro remained calm. He was the most experienced zombie hunter of the group by far and had seen things that would make even Max break into tears. In his youth he had taken on the worst infestations, such as the El Paso Zombie Orphanage incident. But his time as the hero was gone: now he was the old mentor figure, and there was one job every old mentor had to fulfill. He put a hand on Richard's shoulder and assured him, "It isn't too late, nino. Aim for the head, they all fall like that."
Richard weakly nodded, as Father Pedro lifted Katie's fallen hot poker and his own shotgun. "Yo te destierro al infierno de donde saliste!" he shouted as he ran, the flies swarming him as he frantically swung and shot at them. His struggling was much more successful than Katie's, which had devolved into weakly crawling and pleading for help, and more flies began to swarm onto him to try and put the old preacher down. This left enough of a gap in the thick swarm cloud to leave Ablendan's head barely visible. Quivering with fear, he lifted his shotgun and pressed the trigger, closing his eyes. BANG.
Ablendan collapsed, right onto the bled-out corpse of Max. A gunshot wound, full of pus and bile, was visible through the hole shot in Ablendan's hood. The flies immediately flew off of Katie and Father Pedro, the former weakly standing. She ran to Richard's side, hugging him, as the two bowed their heads in sorrow at the sight of their deceased friends. Katie, her spirit shattered by this night, buried her head into Richard's shoulder and began to cry. "Its over," commented Richard, shaking his head sadly. "But at what cost?" This would be the point where the credits roll in any other movie, ending the cliche tale of these cliche survivors. In this case, however, a horrible cracking noise was heard.
Ablendan stood, blood leaking from his gunshot wound, as he dizzily eyed the duo. His claws were reddened with fresh blood, as his mouth spread into a crazed smile. He had killed twice, and until he could properly feed he was in a frenzy of bloodlust. He hunched over for a second before pouncing at the two, eyes crazed and fangs beared. The moans of zombies punctuated the frenzy of ripping and tearing heard from inside the house.
~~~~
A satisfied Ablendan sat, licking his claws clean as he eyed the cleanly-picked skeletons sitting around him. The female had tasted the best, but beggars couldn't be choosers. And with a four-dish buffet being torn down in minutes, Ablendan was actually in a surprisingly good mood. He let out a content sigh as he stood, noticing the television. The screen was at first nothing but static, but soon began to shift from program to program.
Ablendan looked at the television, curious. He had never seen anything like it in his time, and was too busy gnawing the bars of his cage to pay attention to any announcer-given explanations. He walked up and touched it with a finger, and much to his surprise it passed right through. He jumped back with surprise, before shaking his head and steeling his resolve. Taking a few steps back, he rushed the TV and dove right into its screen.
~~~~
Another mess of black and white. The persistent lack of color in both his previous setting and new setting was the first thing Ablendan noticed. But this area seemed a lot more pleasant than the last, and contained none of that annoying black film grain. As Ablendan looked down, he noticed with much curiosity that his tattered robe was replaced by a business suit. He also had a briefcase in his hands. Discarding the briefcase but not bothering with the suit, he slowly walked forward until he bumped into a door.
Door? What the hell was going on? His hunger sated for now, animal-like curiosity took over as he ripped the door off of its hinges with his massive claws. A cue card was painted on the wall, and with much confusion in his voice he slowly sounded it out. "Hi, honey, I'm home?"
Mortals were so strange.