Snippet #1788976

The door was crooked, cracked, unpainted, and the silver knob was covered in a rough, red rust. This, along with the rest of the rotting wooden shack this man called his home, seemed ridiculously pitiful in William’s eyes. However, none of this perception managed to stop him from his desired dramatic entrance; he lifted his right foot high and kicked forward against the door.

What seemed so weak turned out to be rather strong, however, for William felt a jolt of pain through his leg as the door remained closed and unharmed. He put the leg back down and shook it out, ignoring the massive, echoing knock he’d just provided. The door opened shortly after, by the hand of the husky old man who lived inside. After a quick shock of surprise, William jumped up and gave a lazy kick into the old man’s chest and knocked him down on his back.

He pulled the hammer out of the handle-sheathe on his back and held it firm in both hands, stepping towards the man as he scooted backwards on his hand and rear.

“In the name of myself, William Marquis,” he proclaimed proudly and clearly, “and the world of Mancer, I hereby claim your memories”. The man didn’t respond, and instead kept scooting towards a green armchair on the wall of his living room. William just walked along and stared into the man in the eyes, imagining the fears that could’ve gone through his head.

The man finally hit the wall and William decided to be more conversational with his victim, dropping his left hand from the hammer’s lower-handle and cracking the hand’s knuckles as he shifted his gaze towards them.

“A shame, isn’t it?” he jokingly said, “If only you hadn’t opened the door to this complete strang-” William was cut off. The old man quickly reached behind the couch and pulled out a massive, vintage revolver from behind the chair, holding tight in his right hand as he started to get up.

“Put yer hands up, yeh freak”, spoke the old man, “’nd drop that dumbass ‘ammer”. William’s eyes grew wide in fear as he put his hands up and dropped the hammer instantly. The stone on the end leaned away from him and heavily dropped on the old man’s foot, leading him to drop the revolver and shout angrily in pain. William tried to shake off the relief he had and grabbed the hammer again, stepping back and clenching his teeth as he gave a heavy swing to the man’s bent back. A loud snap came from his spine as he fell right down to the ground, no longer making noise.

William leaned over and looked at the body, lightly tapping its head with his foot as if to see if he was faking or not. He chuckled masculinity and looked slightly upward to tell himself and the corner of the room “Another job well done” in a proud, deep tone. He slowly lowered himself to the man’s ear and guided the wisp of smoke out from his head and into his hand, clenching it as it came out and opening his hand to have seen it disappeared.

He sauntered over to the green armchair and took a deep seat in the soft, tacky green cushions. It felt unclean and had that particularly bizarre “old person scent”, but he still had some satisfaction in taking his victim's throne and treating his lucky break as a true victory.