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by Rache on Mon Feb 12, 2007 11:30 pm
He awoke in a fit of coughing, feeling his lungs struggle for air. Gasping for breath, he felt a low sorrow as he remembered.
Today was his execution.
As if on cue, the door ripped open, revealing the guard from the day before and two grossly huge brutes that would have made anyone feel rather small.
The guard sneered as he pulled a card from his pocket, "Mark Rossay, you have no rights reserved due to your treachery. As direct order from the King, you will be beheaded," Waving his hand and depositing the card back into his pocket, the guard smiled, "And yada, yada, let's just go and do it."
The two goliaths stomped forward, roughly grabbing Mark's arms and throwing him before the guard, who seemed to obviously lead them.
Mark was on his hands and knees, but he didn't care about the scrapes anymore than he would have cared for a spider. Instead, his eyes were trained on his dirty, white and scarred skin, trying to remember what colors he would need to make it again.
The guard kicked him, sending him down on his side, "Ready to die, maggot?"
Mark had no strength to call up hatred for his persecuter, but he didn't care.
Just as long as...
The guard swung his AK47 out in a unprovoked fury, bringing it bashing down onto Mark's head, "Answer me!"
Mark blinked as the pain numbed his skull, as blood trickled down from a hidden cut under his jet-black hair, "Y...Yes..."
Another kick, "Sir!"
"Y-yes... sir..."
The guard's grin reminded Mark much of a predator's, sharp, white teeth mashed together in a more threatening than friendly gesture, "Take him."
The two others hefted him up and trooped him down the torch-lit hall of Prison 1-70, following the guard who carried himself like an officer.
Mark surrendered himself to his fate. He didn't care. He had lost everything. His mom, dead by pneumonia; Jolie, the girl across the street he had loved, now buried in some garden; his older brother Sam, gone off in the war...
He remembered fondly the last time Sam had talked to him. They had been standing on a grassy knoll outside the city, watching the King's army with growing excitement.
"I'll think I'll go join, Mark. You know, fight for our country! Keep the enemy out!"
He had thought the idea wonderful, "I'll go with you!"
Sam had ruffled his hair, "Must be seventeen to join, weirdo! You got one more year to go!"
...
That had been three years ago.
And Sam had never come back.
Why should he? He was out there serving his country. All he had back here was an imprisoned brother with a freakish secret, a dead fiance', and a buried mother.
Why would anyone want to go back to that?
"Halt! Who goes there!"
The sudden command brought Mark out of his memories and thoughts. The guard bristled in front of them, barking at some figure in the shadow, "Identify yourself!"
The figure laughed, a cold, harsh noise, "You really want to know?"
Mark stiffened. He could recognize that voice anywhere! But... how? He hadn't brought him out...
The guard, none the wiser, stepped forward, cocking his submachine gun, "You have till the count of three! One! Two!..."
"Three." The figure finished the sentence for the guard, and a long black whip snapped through the air and circled around the guard's gun. With a quick jerk, the gun skittered across the floor, leaving the guard gaping at his empty hands.
Mark knew what would come next and groaned.
An introduction. This one just couldn't resist...
The shadow stepped forward into the torch light and Mark felt the air grow colder with fear and surprise from the three escorting him to his death.
Six foot something, the figure was a very picture of a freak. Ragged pants covered the lower half of its body, at least, until it collided with the metal studded boots it wore. A spider-web of chains crossed its chest and slithered down the length of its right arm. A cuff on the left arm balanced the image. Long claws on each gray skinned hand just added to the nightmare.
The face was featureless, detailess. No eyes, nose, mouth. Just black shadows covering the right side of this monster's face.
The guard stammered, "What... what the heck are you?"
The figure crossed his arms and let the unseen smirk carry over to his voice, "My name is Lust and I'm a Sin. Now..." He stepped forward, cradling his whip in his hand, "Give me the boy."
The guard pulled a sword from his waist, unsure of himself but remaining dutiful, "This maggot is headed to his execution! I cannot let you have him!"
Mark groaned, not believing what was happening. The guard was an idiot. He'd be surprised if...
Lust cocked his head, "Oh, really? You will not let me take him?" Lust unfurled his whip, and, in a stroke too quick for the eyes to follow, the tough leather had scoured a bloody gash across the guard's cheek.
The guard dropped his sword, bringing up his hands to grab his cheek, and he screamed, "You sick-!"
Lust didn't hesitate. Lunging forward, he wrapped the whip once around the guard's neck and tightened the noose. As the guard struggled, the two carrying Mark dropped him and surged forward to help their leader.
Lust saw them coming and snickered. Jerking the guard's head around, he cast the corpse aside after there was a loud CRACK! of vertebrae snapping. Grabbing up the guard's discarded sword, he eagerly leaped forward to meet the coming threat.
Mark watched as his imagination creature slew the humans, watched as Lust throw down the sword in disgust, watched as Lust turned towards him.
Smirking, Lust crooked a finger, "Come here, Mark."
Mark stumbled up, not daring to disobey after his monster's display of ruthlessness. Taking tentative steps forward, he meekly placed himself before Lust.
Lust regarded him, taking in the dirt that covered Mark, the black bruises that betrayed his hurting body, and the torn, raggedy clothes that hung over a starving frame. Sighing, Lust asked, "They haven't hurt you?"
Mark shook his head sullenly.
Next second, he was on the ground with a bleeding nose, a furious Lust hovering above him like a angry thunderstorm, "Don't you ever lock us out again! I only got through when you were distracted by the pain, and, if that freakin' guard hadn't hit you, you'd be swinging by your neck at the gallows!"
Mark could only whimper around his bloody nose.
Lust grabbed his arm and jerked him up, "Come on! The executioner is bound to get curious if you're gone for too long." With that, he started dragging Mark down the hallway.
Mark could only think, ' Why me? Why, dear God, me?
One of his Sins was dragging him away to who-knew-where, and he had absolutely no power over it...
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