[CW] Apocalypse Run

[Raviel the Phantom]

Prologue

Steel pierces into the earth like a knife cutting through flesh. The edge of a shovel digs into the dirt. A low groan slips from the digger’s throat as he scoops up another pile of soil from an ever-expanding hole. He throws the earth over his shoulder to clear it from the hole. An already impressive mound towers behind him as he sinks six feet below the surface. Under the dim light of a lantern, beads of sweat glisten against his pale skin. The digger takes a moment to wipe his brow before continuing his work. The shovel lunges again into the soil, but pings against something solid. For a moment, a smile is brought to the muscled man’s face, but it is quickly dashed when he sees that it is only a rock that blocks his progress. Picking up the stone with his own hand, he carelessly tosses it over his shoulder. Behind him comes a shrill shriek.

“Watch where you are throwing,” caws a dreary old man. He holds the lantern over the hole, which casts an orange glow over his wrinkly face. Liver spots decorate his balding head and a few bruises around his neck have turned nearly black. A jowly frown is marked on his face, emphasized by the hooked nose that makes him look like a vulture. “You nearly hit me with that rock you twit!”

“Bischoff,” a commanding voice booms through the nightly air, “If you do not stand so close, you will not risk being struck.”

“How dare you,” the old crone turns, scowling at the man left in darkness. “You will address me as Bishop Bischoff, you insolent…”

Cold emerald eyes seem to glow in the nightly shade. Powerful eyes can only belong to a powerful man. Bischoff seems to shrink from the stare, his bravado sapped from his aging bones.

He turns away, “Y-Yes, Lord Noah, my apologies…”

The digger looks out of the hole to the man who is called Noah. The emerald stare shifts from the holy man to the digger. Noah speaks softly to the young man, but it is still imposing, “Please, continue.”

Nodding, the digger takes his shovel in both hands and tears into the soil. Another pile comes up with his shovel, and then another. On the third strike, he hears a familiar ping of his shovel striking a solid object. The digger pauses, and then makes a second attack at the ground. The same song sings down in the hole, though the tune is somewhat different. It is not stone he has struck, but metal.

After tossing the shovel out of the hole, he drops to his knees for a better look. There is only dirt upon a glance, but the lantern’s light soon reveals a silvery glint. His fingers work at the soil, pushing it aside to reveal more of the steel that is buried beneath surface. Clawing at the earth, he manages to reveal a metallic skull. Its sockets are embedded with amethyst, glittering violate almost like sickly flames. The teeth in its jaw are clenched together, each tooth a sharp-looking fang. The skull looks up angrily at the digger for disturbing its eternal slumber. Marked upon its forehead is the Roman Numeral “IV”.

“Did you find it?” Bischoff asks excitedly.

The digger looks up at him, “I believe so, milord.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” the bishop squawks. “Bring it up. Bring it up now!”

He obeys the old man’s orders, clawing at the dirt with his bare hands to grab the skull. Yet, as he continues to dig, he uncovers more buried. At the start, it was nothing more than a skull. He finds a surface along with the fearsome face and four corners. It turns into a large chest that rests in this worm-filled bed. Once the box is uncovered, his dirt-infested fingernails find the bottom of the box. The muscles in his legs bulge as he lifts the heavy metal chest out of its resting place. Suddenly, the full weight of it falls on his chest, pushing the air out of his lungs. The digger stumbles a bit, nearly dropping it again. Luckily he stays standing long enough to throw it onto the surface, knocking over a headstone in the process. While he is still down in the hole, the bishop races over to the chest.

“Yes, yes, this is it,” Bischoff says excitedly.

Noah approaches the skull decorated chest. In the light of the lantern, it reveals that most of his face is hidden behind a bundle of black cloth wrapped tightly around his head. Only his emerald stare are exposed, the rest of him bound in robes. He watches the digger climb out of the grave, before helping the young man to his feet. The lad picks up his shovel again and steps up to the chest. Planting his foot on the skull, he wedges the tip of his shovel into the gap in the metal. Using his full weight as leverage, the digger manages to break the seal, opening the chest.

Air trapped from centuries ago hisses out of the opened crack. A red mist spills over onto the ground, looking like a cloud of blood. Noah steps away from the noxious plume as it passes about their ankles. It then disperses into the air. Meanwhile, Bishop Bischoff turns to the box, opening it wide. Eager old eyes take a gander inside, but when they do his jowly frown returns.

“What is the meaning of this, boy?” he shrieks at the digger, grabbing the lad by the collar of his shirt.

“What…what do you mean?” the young man is taken off guard by the sudden rage of the bishop.

Pointing a wrinkly hand to the chest the old man shouts, “It’s empty!”

The grass behind them crunches under Noah’s approaching steps as he pushes Bischoff aside. The holy man shouts something, but he ignores him. He looks into the box with his own eyes, and indeed finds it empty. Unlike the noisy bishop, Noah merely sighs. Turning his attention to Bischoff shouting at the boy, he sees the digger has turned a milky shade of white.

“I-I-I,” the lad stutters, “I swear to you, milord, this is where the map said it would be. I wouldn’t lie to you, milord.”

Bischoff raises a hand as if to strike the digger, “You insolent—”

“I believe you,” Noah says, which stops the bishop. “I feared that this might be the case.”

“Then what does that mean?” the old man questions, returning his arm to his side.

“Death,” Noah says ominously. “Four graves; each were meant to be hidden in the four holiest places on the planet. I have no doubt that the other three have been unearthed as well.”

Bischoff shoots him a sharp look, “You never said anything about three other graves. You made a promise to me, Noah. You said buried here was something important to the church. Yet all I see is an empty box. Enough are your cryptic babbling. What was in the box?”

“The instruments that will the end of all humanity,” Noah answers coldly. He turns his back on the old man and the digger, but not before snatching the lantern out of Bischoff’s hands. Raising the light high over his head, it casts its warm glow over the cemetery. Hidden in the shadows are others, hundreds of hooded cloaks that stand idly by. “For this reason we have gathered. We must hunt down those that would see all of existence destroyed. Four beings of calamity will soon walk the earth, clad in human skin. Our time is running out, we must find them. If we do not, the four will ride and bring about our end. We will be the knights of humanity, to defend the realm of man against them. We will eradicate the four…and anyone who would stand in our way.”

The bishop folds his arms, looking every bit a skeptic, “And how do you propose to find these four?”

Noah does not take his eyes off the hooded masses, his voice thunders through the crowd, “We shall slay any who answers the ancient call…Come and see!”

[Raviel the Phantom]

Chapter 1

“Huh? Did you say something?” A young lady turns to her friend as the two of them walk down the hallway.

“No,” her friend glances over, looking with a pair of curious blue eyes.

“I swore I heard someone whisper,” the girl looks over her shoulder, tucking a few loose strands of blonde hair behind her ear. “Are you messing with me?”

“No,” her friend says defensively, as the two of them stop at a row of lockers. “Maybe you are just hearing things.”

“Maybe,” the girl shrugs it off without much thought.

Delicate pale fingers fiddle with a combination on a locker beside her friend. The dial spins to the left, and then to the right. She tries to turn the handle, but it does not budge. Growling under her breath, she tries the combination again. Once more the dial spins back and forth, stopping at a few numbers. When she tries to open her locker, it refuses to budge. Frustrated, she kicks her locker. The metal door rings loudly in the emptying hall, but still does not open.

“What is wrong with this stupid thing?” she stamps her feet, going to try the combination again.

Her friend points at the locker number, “Uh, Kiera…that’s not your locker.

Kiera glances up and sees the number “6” bolted to the top of the locker door. A wave off blush touches her cheeks, as she steps to the left of her friend. Again she tries the combination she knows and this time the handle turns.

“Thanks, Rose,” she thanks her friend who is grabbing books out of her own locker. “I don’t know—”

When Kiera opens her locker door, a ball of confetti explodes in her face. For a moment, she is blinded by an assortment of colors. The blast disorients her, as she stumbles and eventually falls on her back end. Wiping the confetti from her eyes, she finds Rose also on the floor, though for a different reason. Her best friend is on her knees, holding her side from laughing. Tears roll down the girl’s eyes, finding the prank amusing.

“That’s not funny,” Kiera glares, picking out the pieces that have become entangled in her hair.

“It is a little,” Rose manages to find a moment between her fits of laughter to answer.

While Rose struggles to calm down, Kiera gets back to her feet, as more of the confetti slides off her. Opening her locker door again, she is met with another surprise. A single balloon hovers beside her coat, tied down by a small box wrapped up with blue paper and a red bow. Beside the present is a yellow card decorated with a pink cake. A rainbow of colors spells out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY”, written in Rose’s bubbly handwriting. Sitting on a shelf above all of the wonderful birthday surprises is the culprit to the confetti attack. One small, colorful cannon remains aimed at her face, though it is empty of its ammunition. Despite the initial prank, Kiera finds the gesture sweet. She looks over to Rose, who has managed to calm down enough to stand up again. Her friend is grinning from ear to ear.

“Awe, did you do all of this?” Kiera asks, her own smile spreading.

“Yep,” Rose wraps her arms around her best friend, giving Kiera a rib-aching squeeze, “Happy Birthday, Kiera.”

Kiera accepts the hug and tries to hold Rose with the same intensity, but comes up short, “Thanks.”

“So,” Rose lets go and puts her hands behind her back, “How does it feel to be an adult?”

“No different from yesterday,” Kiera shrugs, knocking another handful of confetti off of her shirt. “I still don’t see the big deal. I’m only eighteen. Not like we can go to a bar, or anything.”

“It IS a big deal,” Rose shouts, waving her hands over her head, “You get to be an adult now. You are a full grown woman.”

“I’ve been full grown for a while now,” Kiera mocks, rolling her eyes at her friend.

Looking at Rose, Kiera recognizes that her friend is already a woman fully grown. Unlike her slender, almost tomboyish body, Rose has a full figure, budding hips and a bouncing chest that attracts every boy in the school. While the two of them have blonde hair, Rose’s has always looked to be spun from gold. Its long curls match perfectly with her bright, sparkling blue eyes. Rose never even wore makeup, as far as she could tell.

Of course, this is what Rose was, the perfect sight of beauty. If Kiera would look at herself in the mirror, she would see a girl who seems to be just budding into womanhood, compared to her friend of course. Pale skin woven like silk, Rose argued, was her best feature. Her platinum blonde hair and soft grey eyes made her seem to be somewhat of a mystery to the few guys that asked her out in the past.

“Hey, you okay?” Rose sees that Kiera is zoning out, again.

“Yeah,” Kiera shakes her head to shake those thoughts out of her head. “Oh yeah, I need to show you what my parents got me.”

She pulls at a silver chain, pulling out an object from within her shirt. Although the chain is simple twists of silver, it is latched to an elegant pendant. More silver, and traces of obsidian, carve their way into twin snakes that appear to be actually one serpent with two heads. The pair of heads twists around each other, their heads facing away. The body coils around a large ruby about the size of a quarter. Gold is mixed in with the scales of obsidian, allowing the pendant to dazzle. The ruby itself is a blood red, but a small diamond forged inside the gem allows a rainbow of colors to bleed through.

“Oh my god, that’s beautiful,” Rose gasps, even her sparkling eyes pale in comparison to the shining gems. “Where did you parents get that?”

Kiera holds up the pendant, a tint of pride traces her smile, “My dad said that it is a family heirloom.

Her friend snatches the pendant out of her hand, and takes a closer look. Rose notices something etched in silver between the ruby and the snake. The small etchings appear to flash emerald.

“Are those words?” she strains her eyes, but cannot make out what it is.

“Yeah,” Kiera answers, taking her pendant back.

“What does it say?”

Kiera shrugs, “I think it is Latin. My dad said that the gem dates back all the way to the Roman Empire.”

“Wow, that is really cool,” Rose says, as she glances over to the small gift box in the locker. “Well seeing that, I think I need to go get you a new gift.”

Both girls share a glance, before their hands dive into the locker. Rose tries to steal the gift back before Kiera can open it, but ultimately, it is the birthday girl that prevails. She rips off the pretty ribbon and opens the small present. Inside the box is a pair of tickets. Kiera’s eyes widen when she sees what they are for.

“Wicked,” she gasps. “You really got me tickets to Wicked.” Rose smiles after hearing her friend let out a high-pitched squeal. Kiera looks back at the tickets, checking the date, “Wait; the show this weekend? Oh my god, this is amazing. Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome,” Rose says just as her friend throws herself around her. “We’ll take a train into the city and go shopping too.”

“You are the best friend anyone could ever have,” Kiera squeezes Rose so tightly that she can hear friend start to choke. Before Rose could turn blue she lets go. “Alright, we’ll talk about it later. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Rose looks at her best friend with a raised brow, “Uh, Kier, it is only sixth period.”

“Yeah I know,” Kiera says grabbing her backpack out of her locker before slamming it shut. “I have two study halls so I’m gonna skip out early. My parents said they had another surprise for me when I got home.”

“Alright,” Rose gives her one more hug, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before any teachers could see her, Kiera sneaks out of the school. Outside is completely empty of people. Only cars litter the parking lot, from the brand new that the parents bought to the lemons that were purchased through minimum wage. She has neither, forcing her to walk a mile home from the school. Thankfully the October sun hangs high overhead, warming up the earth while the autumn winds keep the heat away. Humming to herself, Kiera embarks on her journey home.

A sudden gust tosses the leaves up around her, raising the skin on her exposed arms. The trees along the road sway gently, as if they were dancing to a silent song. Kiera watches as a pair of chipmunks run along the lower branches, trying to steal acorns from one another. The one with fattened cheeks misses a branch and falls into the grass. As soon as its tiny feet touch the ground, it scurries back to the tree. Watching the spectacle makes Kiera chuckle. She enjoys the scenery, while in the back of her mind she contemplates what surprise her parents have in store for her.

Half way through her trip back, the grassy fields are cut off from her by a white fence. Like every day, Kiera runs her fingers over the wood, finding it smooth to the touch. She eyes the barn a couple hundred yards into the fenced off area, looking like a big red brick from here. Near the brick are a few white dots grazing in the fields. Even from this distance, she hears a loud moo coming from one of the bovines that like to hang near the barn. Then she hears a louder animal cry, a whiney.

A pale figure races toward her upon four hooves, its main flapping against the side of its neck. Unlike the other horses that lived on the farm, this one always seemed to enjoy being near her. It stops at the fence and drops its head. Kiera pets the horse’s muzzle. Its long tongue slips out of its mouth and laps against her cheek, as if it were a dog rather than a horse. A trail of slime sticks to her cheek, but she laughs regardless. The steed nuzzles its nose in her hair, as if it were searching for something.

“Okay, okay,” Kiera laughs, trying to push it away for a second. “I brought it, don’t worry.”

Reaching into her backpack, she pulls out a shiny red apple she took from the cafeteria. Before she is able to take a bite herself, the pale horse snatches the entire thing out of her hand. She tries to pull it back, but it is too late. Two chomps of its big mouth turns the apple to mush, as it swallows the whole thing, core and all. Kiera tries to scold the horse for hogging it, but it only snorts in her face.

“You’re such a pig,” she jokes, petting its mane. It nudges her again with its nose, as if to say it enjoys her petting. Of course, she happily obliges. “Oh, I cannot stay mad at you. You are too cute.”

Patting the horse goodbye, she continues on home. Even though she walks away, the pale horse follows her on the other side of the fence. It only stops when it reaches the corner of the farmland, letting out an almost sad whiney as she leaves him behind. A block down the road has her house come into view. A long walkway leads up to a porch. Kiera races up to the porch, leaping up the few steps in a single bound. The old wood creaks under her feet as she steps to the door.

“Mom, dad, I’m home,” she greets them as she opens the door.

Only when she enters the home, she is not met with the warm reception she expected. Her parents are there, but they do not say a word. They lie dead on the floor, their throats sliced open and blood still streaming onto the carpet. Two red puddles soak into the fabric. Blood is splattered on the walls, decorating the living room in their life. Standing over the bodies is a third adult. His face is covered by a black ski mask. Gripped in his gloved hand is the murder weapon. A six inch long knife still soaked in her parents’ blood.

The murderer looks at the horror on Kiera’s face, as he greets her with a harsh voice, “Oh, you’re home early. I guess I should say…Happy Birthday.”

[Raviel the Phantom]

Chapter 2

“No,” Kiera looks at the two mangled corpses before tears blur her vision. “Mom…Dad…”

The crimson still glistens on the knife of their masked assailant. The tip of its blade turns ever so slowly until it fixates itself on her. Kiera can see the murderous glint in his eye, causing her to shy away. Ever so carefully, she takes one step toward the door. And then another. Each movement is slow and methodical, while her eyes never leave his, as if she were gazing at a savage beast. Licking against the back of her neck is a gentle breeze coming through the door frame. A familiar creak of the floorboard means she is nearly outside. Then, she feels something solid press against her back. For a moment she thinks it is the door, but her body sinks into it, the surface soft yet warm. A deep wheeze blows hot air on the back of her head.

Kiera unwillingly breaks eye contact with the masked killer to see what, or rather, who has stopped her escape. Staring down at her is another man in a ski mask even larger than the man wielding the knife. He barely squeezes through the door frame, as his portly belly pushes her back inside. Before she can run away, two gorilla-sized arms wrap around her. The fat accomplice puts her in a bear hug and lifts her off the ground. She tries to scream, but his sickening body odor makes her gag. All Kiera can do is flail her legs wildly, hoping to squeeze through his sweaty clutches.

“Hey, let go of me,” she tries to wriggle out of his grip.

The portly man laughs hoarsely, “Well, this was a pretty easy job.”

“Yeah-yeah,” the knife wielding man says, walking over to his partner. He kicks one of the corpses out of his way to get to Kiera, “Just make sure you hold her still.”

Positioning the knife, he prepares to slice through her throat, but his request falls on deaf ears. Kiera makes sure her final moments are difficult for both men. Her legs swing wildly, hitting into her captor a few in the thigh, only to make it jiggle. A wild strike catches the assailant between the legs. A shrill groan leaves his lips as his legs turn to jelly. The man drops to the floor with a loud thud. He curls in the fetal position, whimpering.

“Hey Mickey, you okay?” his partner asks while trying to hold back a laugh.

“S-Shut up” the man answers at a higher octave than before.

Before Mickey has a chance to get back to his feet, Kiera manages to give his partner a similar present. The back of her heel slams him between his legs, and she feels his arms loosen. Kiera hits the floor just as the man starts to fall like a timbering oak. She darts out of the way as he crashes onto his partner. The smaller man groans again with his hefty partner smashing on top of him. Now on her own feet, Kiera turns to the door, but finds that the big man’s body still blocks the exit.

“George, get up you fat bastard,” she hears Mickey complain, his voice back to normal.

While the two men are struggling to get back on their feet, Kiera decides to run into the house. She looks away from the corpses as she splashes through their blood. A few steps out of the living room have her in the kitchen, racing to a door beside the breakfast nook. She throws it open to a set of wooden stairs leading to the basement. Closing the door behind her blankets her in darkness. Only a small sliver of daylight peeks from under the door, showering the steps in a gray veil. Her hands fumble for the railing as she takes each step carefully. Halfway down, she makes out a metal chain swinging precariously from the ceiling. It takes a few tries to get a good hold of it, but she manages to pull it. The basement is bathed in an orange glow, as she bounds down the rest of the stairs to the cement bottom. Each footstep seems to magnify in the cemented room, causing her to wince. Carefully, yet quickly, she trots to the far end of the basement.

There, a second set of stairs are carved into the ground. Each gray step leads op out of the basement to a pair of large metal doors. She climbs her way up toward the doors, and pushes. Outside she hears the old, rusted hinges creak, their song echoing into the basement. She pushes harder, but the door moves no more than a crack. Her heart catches in her throat when she eyes something wooden lying across both doors. On closer look, Kiera sees that it is the shovel from the shed that bars her way to freedom. Knowing there is no use pursing this way, she returns to the basement for another means of escape.

“Hey, did you hear that?” she hears Mickey talking upstairs.

George wheezes, “Yeah, sounds like we caught the little bird.”

Their footsteps thump loudly overhead as they walk through the kitchen. The door from the kitchen opens with a slight squeak. The wooden stairs groan, most likely under George’s weight, as the two men come down into the basement to find her. Kiera looks around frantically. Nothing nearby can be used as a weapon, not that she has a chance of fighting them off. With little other options, she chooses to hide. At the bottom of the stone steps is the water heater. She squeezes between the metal cylinder and the wall. It is hot to the touch, causing her to wince when it grazes her arm. Even with the skin blistering, she bites her tongue and holds in the noise. That is, until she does not see the overhead pipe. It rings off her head. A painful curse leaves her lips before she has the chance to silence herself.

“There she is!” Mickey shouts, as he and his partner hurry after her.

Kiera tries to slink away, but George’s large arm is able to reach her ankle. He grabs her ankle and pulls her out. Although she tries to kick him, his thick coat merely absorbs her shots. A moment later, Kiera finds herself pinned to her back with Mickey, the knife wielder, standing over her. Both men have removed their masks. Mickey is a weasel-faced man with a large scar scrawled underneath his left eye. On the other hand, George looks like a swollen bullfrog with an extra set of chins.

“Let’s get this over with,” Mickey grumbles, as he spins the knife between his fingers.

“No, please,” Kiera begs, but tries to break free. George holds her arms while Mickey has her legs pinned under his feet. “I won’t tell anyone that I saw you. I promise, please, don’t do it. Don’t kill me, I don’t want to die!”

Mickey merely laughs at her pleading. The black gloved of his right hand tightens its grip on the knife. He brings it down, ready to plunge the blade into her heart. In that split second before life and death, Kiera fidgets one last time, jostling her pendant beneath her shirt. As the tip of the weapon cuts through cloth, it does not find flesh. The basement rings with the sound of metal against metal.

*Crack*

The tip of the knife stabs just below the twin throats of the serpents. A crack runs along the jewelry, running up through the ruby, though it does not break. Seeing what he has done, Mickey stumbles away, dropping the knife. George does the same, crawling away from Kiera as if she were the plague.

“W-What did you do?” the portly partner screams at Mickey.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to,” he stammers, “S-She moved.”

“We got to hurry! Kill her before—”

The voice trails off as the ground rumbles violently at Kiera’s feet. The cement floor rips apart, cracking like the pendant around her neck. It then opens like the maw of some terrible beast. Flames of sapphire blue spew from the depths. They dance hauntingly, seemingly consuming the other light in the basement. A pale glow casts over her and the two men. Among the ghastly embers, a pale figure crawls its way out of the hole. Slowly, it gets to its feet. It takes on a humanoid shape as the blue light from the fire almost appears to focus on the being.

The flames calm before a young man, who is unfeeling of their intense heat. Long locks of coal black hair hang down his back, left in a wild array. Only scraps of black garments wrap around his waist, while the rest of him is left bare. His figure is slim, yet muscular. The man looks over his shoulder. His eyes meet Kiera’s. She sees that they are a daunting amber color with an inlay of gold that flashes like fire.

“So, you are the one,” he says, coldly. Turning away from her, he spots the two men cowering at his presence. “Have these men tried to harm you?”

Kiera manages to say, “Yes.”

The young man starts to approach. With each step the air round him ripples, as if it is being superheated. Both Mickey and George turn to run away, though the thinner of the two gets a greater distance. The heavy set assailant turns to find the man mere inches away. Rather than cower, he stands his ground ready to pummel the person half his size and a third his weight. His large gorilla fist swings for the face. The knuckles never reach the young man. It is swallowed up by the same blue fire as before. George shrieks in pain as the flames crawl up his flesh, quickly swallowing him whole. His wailing is short, as he is reduced to a pile of ash by the sapphire blaze.

Watching his partner being scorched to nothingness, Mickey lunges for his knife. The amber-eyed youth watches patiently as the assailant grabs his weapon. Armed with his blade, the murderer turns his weapon not on the boy, but the girl. He races for Kiera. Thrusting the blade, it finds flesh this time, as blood splatters on the floor.

Kiera shudders as she sees the young man standing between her and her attacker, the knife buried deep in his chest. Mickey lets go of the blade, backing away while trembling horribly. His victim looks uncaringly at the knife, and then rips it out of his body. It clatters to the floor. All that is left is a wound that is rapidly closing back up.

“You, you’re a demon,” is all that Mickey can say.

“Not a demon,” is the answer the assailant gets, as his victim approaches. A hand grabs at his throat, as the young man lifts him up in the air. Their eyes meet, and for an instance, it is like the murderer is looking into the depths of Hell. “I am the Demon King.”

Without even a cry, the murderous Mickey is consumed by the sapphire flames. Now only her, and the Demon King remain. The Lord of Darkness steps toward her, his eyes igniting like fire. She becomes lost in his deep, daunting gaze that she forgets her desire to run. Before she can realize what is happening, he is standing over her.

“P-Please don’t hurt me,” she shields herself, expecting the end.

Her plea is met only with silence. The master of demons moves, his bare feet making soft taps on the cold cement. When Kiera moves her hands away from her eyes, she sees him on bended knee. His head is bowed, like a knight awaiting His Grace’s command.

“I, Lucifer, King of Demons,” his voice is soft, and almost kind. “I am here to serve you. You are the Horseman of Death.”

[Raviel the Phantom]

Chapter 2

“No,” Kiera looks at the two mangled corpses before tears blur her vision. “Mom…Dad…”

The crimson still glistens on the knife of their masked assailant. The tip of its blade turns ever so slowly until it fixates itself on her. Kiera can see the murderous glint in his eye, causing her to shy away. Ever so carefully, she takes one step toward the door. And then another. Each movement is slow and methodical, while her eyes never leave his, as if she were gazing at a savage beast. Licking against the back of her neck is a gentle breeze coming through the door frame. A familiar creak of the floorboard means she is nearly outside. Then, she feels something solid press against her back. For a moment she thinks it is the door, but her body sinks into it, the surface soft yet warm. A deep wheeze blows hot air on the back of her head.

Kiera unwillingly breaks eye contact with the masked killer to see what, or rather, who has stopped her escape. Staring down at her is another man in a ski mask even larger than the man wielding the knife. He barely squeezes through the door frame, as his portly belly pushes her back inside. Before she can run away, two gorilla-sized arms wrap around her. The fat accomplice puts her in a bear hug and lifts her off the ground. She tries to scream, but his sickening body odor makes her gag. All Kiera can do is flail her legs wildly, hoping to squeeze through his sweaty clutches.

“Hey, let go of me,” she tries to wriggle out of his grip.

The portly man laughs hoarsely, “Well, this was a pretty easy job.”

“Yeah-yeah,” the knife wielding man says, walking over to his partner. He kicks one of the corpses out of his way to get to Kiera, “Just make sure you hold her still.”

Positioning the knife, he prepares to slice through her throat, but his request falls on deaf ears. Kiera makes sure her final moments are difficult for both men. Her legs swing wildly, hitting into her captor a few in the thigh, only to make it jiggle. A wild strike catches the assailant between the legs. A shrill groan leaves his lips as his legs turn to jelly. The man drops to the floor with a loud thud. He curls in the fetal position, whimpering.

“Hey Mickey, you okay?” his partner asks while trying to hold back a laugh.

“S-Shut up” the man answers at a higher octave than before.

Before Mickey has a chance to get back to his feet, Kiera manages to give his partner a similar present. The back of her heel slams him between his legs, and she feels his arms loosen. Kiera hits the floor just as the man starts to fall like a timbering oak. She darts out of the way as he crashes onto his partner. The smaller man groans again with his hefty partner smashing on top of him. Now on her own feet, Kiera turns to the door, but finds that the big man’s body still blocks the exit.

“George, get up you fat bastard,” she hears Mickey complain, his voice back to normal.

While the two men are struggling to get back on their feet, Kiera decides to run into the house. She looks away from the corpses as she splashes through their blood. A few steps out of the living room have her in the kitchen, racing to a door beside the breakfast nook. She throws it open to a set of wooden stairs leading to the basement. Closing the door behind her blankets her in darkness. Only a small sliver of daylight peeks from under the door, showering the steps in a gray veil. Her hands fumble for the railing as she takes each step carefully. Halfway down, she makes out a metal chain swinging precariously from the ceiling. It takes a few tries to get a good hold of it, but she manages to pull it. The basement is bathed in an orange glow, as she bounds down the rest of the stairs to the cement bottom. Each footstep seems to magnify in the cemented room, causing her to wince. Carefully, yet quickly, she trots to the far end of the basement.

There, a second set of stairs are carved into the ground. Each gray step leads op out of the basement to a pair of large metal doors. She climbs her way up toward the doors, and pushes. Outside she hears the old, rusted hinges creak, their song echoing into the basement. She pushes harder, but the door moves no more than a crack. Her heart catches in her throat when she eyes something wooden lying across both doors. On closer look, Kiera sees that it is the shovel from the shed that bars her way to freedom. Knowing there is no use pursing this way, she returns to the basement for another means of escape.

“Hey, did you hear that?” she hears Mickey talking upstairs.

George wheezes, “Yeah, sounds like we caught the little bird.”

Their footsteps thump loudly overhead as they walk through the kitchen. The door from the kitchen opens with a slight squeak. The wooden stairs groan, most likely under George’s weight, as the two men come down into the basement to find her. Kiera looks around frantically. Nothing nearby can be used as a weapon, not that she has a chance of fighting them off. With little other options, she chooses to hide. At the bottom of the stone steps is the water heater. She squeezes between the metal cylinder and the wall. It is hot to the touch, causing her to wince when it grazes her arm. Even with the skin blistering, she bites her tongue and holds in the noise. That is, until she does not see the overhead pipe. It rings off her head. A painful curse leaves her lips before she has the chance to silence herself.

“There she is!” Mickey shouts, as he and his partner hurry after her.

Kiera tries to slink away, but George’s large arm is able to reach her ankle. He grabs her ankle and pulls her out. Although she tries to kick him, his thick coat merely absorbs her shots. A moment later, Kiera finds herself pinned to her back with Mickey, the knife wielder, standing over her. Both men have removed their masks. Mickey is a weasel-faced man with a large scar scrawled underneath his left eye. On the other hand, George looks like a swollen bullfrog with an extra set of chins.

“Let’s get this over with,” Mickey grumbles, as he spins the knife between his fingers.

“No, please,” Kiera begs, but tries to break free. George holds her arms while Mickey has her legs pinned under his feet. “I won’t tell anyone that I saw you. I promise, please, don’t do it. Don’t kill me, I don’t want to die!”

Mickey merely laughs at her pleading. The black gloved of his right hand tightens its grip on the knife. He brings it down, ready to plunge the blade into her heart. In that split second before life and death, Kiera fidgets one last time, jostling her pendant beneath her shirt. As the tip of the weapon cuts through cloth, it does not find flesh. The basement rings with the sound of metal against metal.

*Crack*

The tip of the knife stabs just below the twin throats of the serpents. A crack runs along the jewelry, running up through the ruby, though it does not break. Seeing what he has done, Mickey stumbles away, dropping the knife. George does the same, crawling away from Kiera as if she were the plague.

“W-What did you do?” the portly partner screams at Mickey.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to,” he stammers, “S-She moved.”

“We got to hurry! Kill her before—”

The voice trails off as the ground rumbles violently at Kiera’s feet. The cement floor rips apart, cracking like the pendant around her neck. It then opens like the maw of some terrible beast. Flames of sapphire blue spew from the depths. They dance hauntingly, seemingly consuming the other light in the basement. A pale glow casts over her and the two men. Among the ghastly embers, a pale figure crawls its way out of the hole. Slowly, it gets to its feet. It takes on a humanoid shape as the blue light from the fire almost appears to focus on the being.

The flames calm before a young man, who is unfeeling of their intense heat. Long locks of coal black hair hang down his back, left in a wild array. Only scraps of black garments wrap around his waist, while the rest of him is left bare. His figure is slim, yet muscular. The man looks over his shoulder. His eyes meet Kiera’s. She sees that they are a daunting amber color with an inlay of gold that flashes like fire.

“So, you are the one,” he says, coldly. Turning away from her, he spots the two men cowering at his presence. “Have these men tried to harm you?”

Kiera manages to say, “Yes.”

The young man starts to approach. With each step the air round him ripples, as if it is being superheated. Both Mickey and George turn to run away, though the thinner of the two gets a greater distance. The heavy set assailant turns to find the man mere inches away. Rather than cower, he stands his ground ready to pummel the person half his size and a third his weight. His large gorilla fist swings for the face. The knuckles never reach the young man. It is swallowed up by the same blue fire as before. George shrieks in pain as the flames crawl up his flesh, quickly swallowing him whole. His wailing is short, as he is reduced to a pile of ash by the sapphire blaze.

Watching his partner being scorched to nothingness, Mickey lunges for his knife. The amber-eyed youth watches patiently as the assailant grabs his weapon. Armed with his blade, the murderer turns his weapon not on the boy, but the girl. He races for Kiera. Thrusting the blade, it finds flesh this time, as blood splatters on the floor.

Kiera shudders as she sees the young man standing between her and her attacker, the knife buried deep in his chest. Mickey lets go of the blade, backing away while trembling horribly. His victim looks uncaringly at the knife, and then rips it out of his body. It clatters to the floor. All that is left is a wound that is rapidly closing back up.

“You, you’re a demon,” is all that Mickey can say.

“Not a demon,” is the answer the assailant gets, as his victim approaches. A hand grabs at his throat, as the young man lifts him up in the air. Their eyes meet, and for an instance, it is like the murderer is looking into the depths of Hell. “I am the Demon King.”

Without even a cry, the murderous Mickey is consumed by the sapphire flames. Now only her, and the Demon King remain. The Lord of Darkness steps toward her, his eyes igniting like fire. She becomes lost in his deep, daunting gaze that she forgets her desire to run. Before she can realize what is happening, he is standing over her.

“P-Please don’t hurt me,” she shields herself, expecting the end.

Her plea is met only with silence. The master of demons moves, his bare feet making soft taps on the cold cement. When Kiera moves her hands away from her eyes, she sees him on bended knee. His head is bowed, like a knight awaiting His Grace’s command.

“I, Lucifer, King of Demons,” his voice is soft, and almost kind. “I am here to serve you. You are the Horseman of Death.”