16Chapter Seven: Black Light
Damien awoke, but he kept his aching eyes closed.
"Where am I?" He whispered to himself, not expecting an answer.
"Damien. Always a fighter, weren't you?"
"Umph." It was just a demon. Probably a Siren or a retarded Amalgam - its voice was female, and sounded easily fightable. His gun was in his pocket, destroyed. But after feeling around he discovered his Chaos Knife safely tucked in its sheath. He held its handle, and the voice sighed, continuing its speech.
"Always wanting to win wars you could never conquer. Never seeing a dead end in your quest for redemption." The unknown voice paused to giggle and kick away the knife - Damien frantically felt around for it, but she stepped on his hand and held it there, then casually clicked her tongue and began speaking again: "But let me go off topic, honey. About this demon called Vicki." The casual voice slid into a tone of dark morbidity.
"Do you care for her enough to sell your corrupt soul to save her life? Do you love her that much?"
Damien angrily opened his eyes, immediately widening them at what he saw.
"You can't believe in this horse crap, can you?!" Jonathan Shoran, producer and anchorman of the Channel 6 news team ranted at his co-worker.
"John, I saw the pictures and tapes myself. Half of Houston, Texas is covered in this black muck. It's creepy as Hell – there are these weirdos runnin' around down there with gray skin. The government is declaring it a state of emergency-"
"And where did you hear this, Ricky?"
"I've gotten hundreds of tapes and photos from people in Houston, John, they-"
"That just means that there's a cult down there full of hundreds of people that believe this crap!"
"We have live video feed, John-"
"Well I ain't buyin' it. Get out of my fa-"
The faded blue telephone on his office desk rang for a split second before he picked it up.
"John Shoran, Anchorman – what do you need, can't you see I'm busy?"
"Um, is this Channel Six?"
"Does it sound like it?!" He faced the phone receiver into the large office, exposing it to the scattered sounds of people hard at work.
The man on the other side replied "Um… yeah?"
"Well good then! What do you want?"
"Can I report a story?"
"Well is this Channel Six news?"
"Um…"
"Do I need to demonstrate what it sounds like again?!"
"Um, no man. Listen, there are these weird things going on here, there's-"
"Where are you calling from?"
"Houston. There's this black, sticky smoke in the air, and the ground is splittin' up. There's this black goo comin' out of the cracks, man! And these people are like diseased or somethin', cause their skin's gray and they're really… um, dead lookin'. It's creepin' me out -"
"Ugh, I don't have time for cults, jackass - this is a system!"
After angrily hanging up, Jonathan's co-worker spoke up: "But that guy was-"
"This is a system, Ricky!"
"What are you thinking about?"
Damien had had enough. He stood up, his clawed hands desperately reaching out at his questioner, bearing his black teeth and snarling with the scarred ferocity of a bleeding kitten. She effortlessly pushed him away.
"Hold it, hold it, no need to be hostile, Damien! Calm down!"
Damien pursed his shredded lips, then meekly cracked his knuckles and lowered his head, backing away from the mysterious girl.
The shocking part of this demon was not that she was grotesque or frightening, but that she was extraordinarily beautiful – prettier even than Vicki - and looked both angelic and demonic at the same time. She had straight golden blonde hair that met the middle of her chest, her eyes were a glossy black, and she showed off gorgeous, enormous black bat wings that stretched and folded elegantly. Her nails were sharp, long and a glowing gold color, and when she opened her mouth to speak, bright light flooded from her throat in a fiery torrent. A vanilla v-neck shirt with one long sleeve housed her human-skinned torso, a black barbed-wire graphic wrapped around it, snugly clutching the fabric and showing off her breathtakingly amazing figure. Her skin was radiant and perfect. She wore a white knee-length ruffled skirt with the same graphic and black combat boots similar to Vicki's when Damien first met her.
But she was not the reason that Damien was scared shitless. Behind this attractive girl was the rotting carcass of the enormous anaconda. Where was Vicki – was she dead? Who was this girl? Did she… kill the beast? Did she slay the monster that had fought off both him and Vicki? Damien's eyes became watery at the thought of Vicki, but he stifled his tears. He wanted answers from this creature, but he had to be cautious – he hoped to God that she wasn't a developed Amalgam – a fusion of demon and angel. There was always the off chance that she was a Siren, but he doubted it. A Siren wouldn't have let him get this close to her without killing him.
She daintily pointed her index finger at Damien and addressed him.
"You must stay clam, Damien. You wouldn't want Vicki accidentally getting killed, now."
He didn't speak for a moment, but lowered his claws. He needed to know something before he tried attacking.
"Are you a…" He cleared his throat. "Are you a Hybrid?"
"Do I look like one?"
"That wasn't my question."
She giggled and shoved him hard. "Fuck off."
He grabbed her forearm to stop himself from falling over, digging his claws into her skin. He got her pretty deep, but not a drop of blood was spilled.
"Ooh, we're a little frisky, aren't we? Sit down."
She grabbed his neck with her free hand and tossed him ten feet away from her, but he quickly got up again, walking over furiously.
He wanted to strike her, but there was no telling how powerful she was. Demons were strong, angels were strong, but Hybrids were ten times more potent and dynamic. They had the power and intelligence of a demon, but the spirit and ecstasy of an angelic creature. They were rare – only the most powerful demons were able to attack and rape an angel. After the angel would be assaulted, it would go into exile and give birth to a creature of corrupted evil. The child would look fine - no, more than fine – it would be a perfect image of beauty. The only way one could tell it was part demon would be its black eyes. Knowing that the child was the spawn of evil, the mother would abandon the child in Hell and commit suicide. (Angels are capable of committing sins after contact with demons.) The child would fend for itself in Hell, eventually growing its natural demonic appendages – bat wings, horns, tails, fangs, etc. Hybrids were recluses, avoiding other demons and lurking in the shadows. But in no way were they shy – they were curious, shameless, and lustful creatures. One should always be cautious in the presence of one – the best idea is to casually acknowledge their presence and to never indulge nor ignore them.
Damien didn't dare try anything, so he was silent as he retreated into his little corner, holding his chest and glaring at her.
The Amalgam sat down on the floor, crossing her legs and smiling like a grade-school child. Her voice was honeyed and cute, and her black eyes glistened with a morbid beauty only achieved by one other – Vicki. Rocking back and forth, she called out: "Damey! Daaaayyyymeeeyyy!" She got on her hands and knees and scampered over to him, shaking her behind like a curious puppy. Rising to a squat, she poked at him a few times with her index finger, but he didn't respond.
"…Damey." The poking became more rapid, and her nails spontaneously sharpened. Her childish prodding evolved into stabs.
Damien tried to ignore it, but she was poking him on a vein in his bicep. He squinted. Her hand was becoming drenched in his black blood, but she made no motion to wipe it away. Her voice lost its beauty.
"Damey."
Damien's eyes were slammed shut. His left arm was soaked in blood, and The Hybrid's finger was beginning to poke straight through his limb.
A disgusting smooching noise still lingered in the air as she stopped her miniature assault.
"Damien. You are no closer to solace. No closer to the pleasure and satisfaction of being with the one you love." She paused. "You know where she is right now?"
He shook his head.
"She's fighting for her life in there," she told him, pointing to the dead snake with her bloodsoaked finger. She casually giggled. "Funny thing about this anaconda – even after you kill it, its insides still keep going for hours and hours," She said, placing the emphasis on 'hours and hours'.
Damien's eyes widened, and he began to rise. She shoved him back down, and he angrily wriggled around under her powerful hand.
"Another funny thing, Damien. The mouth still leads to the demonic council. There's no way you're going in after her."
He stopped wriggling, crestfallen.
She jerked his head close to her mouth, licking his cheek with her black tongue and whispering: "Fight for her."
Damien was silent. She let go of his head and sat down in his lap, grasping his bloodsoaked hand, staring ahead and grinning a malicious smirk. She smelled like angels should smell, and Damien felt inclined to reach out and touch her, to let her beauty fill him with passionate black light. He felt as if she were a part of him…
The girl raised her clawed hand and gently stroked Damien's cheek. Her face closed in on his and her voice slipped into a whisper.
"Be careful what you covet, baby."
A sickening splattering sound severed the thick air as she fluidly slit his throat and backed away from his writhing form. Damien gurgled and held his shredded esophagus with both hands, getting out of his squatting position and stumbling over to The Hybrid. Black blood spewed from his neck in a messy torrent, drenching the unmoving girl as she glared at him, her black fangs hanging halfway out of her glowing mouth. Her neck was crooked to one side, and she looked at him as if he were a lost kitten.
It was getting darker… Damien struggled to keep his eyes and his throat open. Blood was choking him. He waved his good arm around in front of him, catching the fabric of her shirt, now dirty with blood. She was a statue as he choked and violently coughed up blood and chunks of esophagus, sliding to the ground. His coughs became weaker.
The girl knelt down and whispered something in his ear that he couldn't understand. It was in a nonsense language, he thought.
"(May the Son of Satan and Father of Divinity coerce you into the next life, sweetheart.)"
Vicki awoke with a scream - her right arm was badly burned, her right eye was bleeding and her right foot was broken. Bits of bone jutted from her bloody and disfigured foot. She was lying down. She moaned, but could not move - wet pink flesh surrounded her. There was just enough room for her to breathe and wiggle around, but even that was painful. She sat for a few hours, resting and thinking.
The muscles around her began to lurch.
'No!' She thought, enraged. 'I've come this far…'
She endured the ripping pain and thrashed around as best she could. Where was her katana? If she could just reach around to her back and feel for it… damn! Her good arm was trapped in anaconda muscle. Maybe if she just bit her lip and used her injured arm…
"Augh!"
Vicki squealed in agony when her burned arm was crushed by muscle as she tried to ease it toward her back. Now it was stuck in a horribly uncomfortable position – a million rusty nails seemed to stab into her arm, it hurt her so bad.
Black tears streamed from her face as she agonizingly roared and shoved her burned arm back even further. Her charred fingers were now grazing the handle of her katana. She felt desperately felt around for it – yes! Yes, yes, yes! – She was gripping the handle now.
Exhaustion overwhelmed her body when she realized that she would have to unsheathe it.
The claw on her index finger was getting ripped off. It separated itself from her fingertip in an explosion of pain and a weak gush of blood. Her hand went into spasms and her fangs accidentally bit her lower lip hard.
With her mouth streaming blood and her arm inches away from a breaking point, Vicki closed her good eye and tried to steady her breathing. She was going into shock and she knew it – her breathing was heavily labored and her eyes were so wide they began to ache.
'Breathe, Vicki…' she thought, sighing and regulating her breathing. With all of her injuries, it was way too easy for her to have a heart attack. Besides, she was almost there. With her hand wrapped firmly around the handle of her katana, she inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and yanked her arm.
A thunderous burst told her that she had snapped something, but she didn't feel it. Blood and tears flowed from her exhausted eyes. Now there was no hope – her left arm was trapped in muscle and her right arm was now a burned bag of loose broken bones and useless bloody meat.
Vicki showed valiant determination, but like all true demons, she was not stupid. She let her body go limp and closed her eyes, disappointed. Visions of Damien flashed through her mind. His oddly passionate kiss, and the empty feeling she had experienced when it happened. He was the reason she was a powerful demon, and she wouldn't want it any other way. She was regretful that she had actually tried to fight him and kill him. The whole reason she was in here was because she had wanted Damien to fall at her blade, and she hated herself for it.
'Getting tired. Go ahead and keep your eyes closed. If Damien is still alive, he can take care of himself. So warm in here… humid… so easy to fall asleep… No! I have so much to live for…' And then she remembered who she had been before she was killed. A Goth – a person who embraced the darkness. A person who thought she could handle evil. Thought she could tame shadows. Knew she could.
The muscle finally withdrew fromaround herleft arm, freeing it. This was her chance.
With one last powerful thrash, she flipped her body over. The katana was unsheathed and in front of her face. With her teeth, she clamped the handle and quickly cranked her neck towards her left side. Now it was within grabbing range. She just needed to strain her good arm a little bit… there! It was in her hand, now she just needed to begin cutting. She moved her left arm a little bit – yes! – She sliced into the muscle just a little bit. 'Keep going Vicki, keep going…'
The muscles around her were strong, but thin. Within two hours of persistent cutting, she had made a large enough hole (the hardest part was the scales, which took her the most time).
She was done… her body slipped out of the wound and landed hard on the dusty red ground in which she had fought the anaconda only hours before. She just noticed that she was drenched in a disgusting slime – the dirt was sticking to her body. Vicki laid still. She was safe now… her demonic immune system would keep her broken arm and foot from developing an infection… it was finally okay for her to sleep.
She aimlessly reached out into empty space, stretching her arm more than anything. Her hand rested on a head – not uncommon in Hell. Corpses were sometimes strewn around everywhere. But she opened her eyes.
"…Damien."