Chapter 16: SAINT PABLO PT.2

  ".evarb eht fo emoh, aciremA sselb doG”

  September 23rd, 1989.

  The clock in Link II's home read 5 AM.

  A group of people approached the house.

  Some clearly wearing durags, others carrying handguns and shotguns.

  Bringing along hookers and prostitutes wearing coats to cover themselves.

  At the same time, wanting to show them the truth of being “that real n***a in the streets.”

  They wanted a slow and easy mission, killing anyone or anything in that house and robbing it of any valuables.

  Easy as 1, 2, 3.

  Each gangster took an entrance, one taking the front door and banging on it, breaking in with ease.

  Meanwhile, Link II was in the same void dream he had.

  He sees the shadow figure.

  Finds the mirror, it fires disturbing and offensive words at him.

  He panics and cries, the cycle resets.

  But when Link II woke, he heard the banging of the doors, quickly realizing someone was breaking into his home.

  So he summoned his nearby shotgun and rushed to the living room to hide.

  Sliding against the carpet, feeling the softness of it, yet felt like burning rope.

  His breath shook, realizing this was the moment somebody robbed his home.

  Knowing he had to kill someone.

  Holding back tears from his nightmare that repeated over and over again every night.

  Tears falling like kiss land.

  Link II cocked the lever-action shotgun, held it tight.

  Ready for any bullet to hit him, while he waited and waited for them to break in, he started to cry.

  Almost having another meltdown, having to keep himself hopeful for another life threatening situation.

  When they finally burst in from both sides, Link II fired once.

  Each pellet of the shell hit the first gangster in the head.

  His brain was blown clean off.

  Having a huge gap in his left side.

  The body fell to the floor with a loud thud.

  Bleeding like a river, spat out blood towards the floor.

  The others freaked out at the sight of their dead friend's internal head.

  Their eyeballs spilling out from the huge hole in his head.

  The pink internal brain being seen from the outside, his mouth left open as if they yelled a war cry.

  His final words.

  “Alright, now, ladies, prepare for action!”

  Besides the obvious noise of the door breaking down, covering their voice.

  Everyone around Link II freaked out, now seeing an armed 6-year-old boy soldier kill a man with a single shell.

  Another gangster tried to charge at Link II, but Link II rushed back at him, the man pointed a Glock 19 at him.

  Pinning Link II to the floor with his hard grip hard, headbutting the boy before then.

  Within seconds, he pushed the man down enough, thinking he dodged the bullet almost superhumanly.

  Even though the bullet hit his calf, Link II didn't know yet.

  Abruptly shoving the man back with Telekinesis, his body hit the wall with a loud thump.

  Using his spell “sinvisable” again to control time again and hide behind the corner.

  Just long enough to seem like he just disappeared within thin air.

  Link II peaked milliseconds later, seeing barely anything left of the wall.

  Seeing the aggravated faces of those he tempted.

  He crumbled, his PTSD triggering again.

  Unconsciously repeating the same sound of falling bodies crashing the floor, the blood still smelt like dead fish and rat carcasses.

  Yet Link II's hands and head twitched in trauma.

  He slowly felt like his mind switched perspectives…

  Like he went inside the mind of a lunatic rather than the mind of a traumatized child.

  In reality, the gangsters and prostitutes looked at Link II with fear.

  Almost wanting to sprint out of that damn house as fast as a rabbit.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  But Link II appeared back in reality… and smiled.

  Smiling like he was possessed by not just demons, but souls that wanted not just revenge.

  Wanting, demanding pools and pools of blood for the sins others committed against them.

  Link II began to laugh at the body, even approaching it, tearing the skin off the man.

  Playing with it as if it were a toy.

  Even ripping out the man's heart for fun.

  Throwing it against the wall made a sound so disgusting that even he flinched back from it.

  The gangsters and prostitutes almost cried.

  In what felt like the first day in their lives they felt humbled and weak.

  Like they were all children sitting near the Grim Reaper.

  One brave gangster asked.

  “...what the actual fuck are you?”

  And Link II spoke, almost distorted with the voice of thousands wanting more than just revenge and success.

  “We are DAMNED.

  We are the DAMNED.

  DAMNED those who appeared in hell who were once banished by sin, but now…

  Appreciated by one child who understood us all.

  We Are DUCKWORTH.”

  Both groups almost passed out from the amount of fear that sentence spoke to them.

  Occurring to them that they were speaking with demons.

  Not just regular evil demons with a personality, but these were tragic, demonic and vile.

  These disgusting souls contained within this mortal body of the soldier boy floating in front of them.

  They all tried to run, but Duckworth forced them to stay put.

  Using his telekinesis, making them all lining up in a single file line.

  Smirking at each one of them, shivering in fear for what felt like an emotion abandoned by years of pain.

  While Duckworth monologued:

  “You know… the reason I toy with you all for the first time is because I want to get you to FEAR.

  Not me; not them, but what being DAMNED really feels like.

  …you think it's funny when you see a fucking kid shot down in your hometown?

  You think that shit’s fucking funny? To see one of your own shot for just looking at someone funny?

  Now… I'm not a monster, but I won't hesitate to end your life within seconds.

  Not just to be creeped out by a dead body, but to FEEL fear for the first time in your lives as you die.

  …y’all should really fear WHAT happens when you die, rather than how you die and your legacy.”

  “You should fear being DAMNED to hell.”

  The prostitutes finally broke their guard, wailing and sobbing.

  Almost like they knew to change, but their trauma and cycle of lust made them used to it.

  Duckworth moved towards them.

  Staring them deep into their soul like death.

  During this,Link II was trying to get back into his mortal body.

  His body and soul felt blood drip, bleeding from his head and neck.

  Yet Duckworth spoke again.

  “You know… I know the past of you ladies… tsk, tsk, tsk, all that lust, and for what?”

  Surprisingly letting them of his telekinesis grip, whispering to himself.

  “You deserve another chance, all three of you despite your pasts.”

  The women bolted.

  Barely tripping a few times because of the high heels they wore.

  While Duckworth spoke to the gangsters with anger.

  “You… You killed many innocent people, didn't you?

  You treated your own like shit.

  You hit women like sluts.

  You… even molested someone, one of you did, you poor fuckers.

  Only one of you in this group of four is truly innocent… George.

  You always wanted to be a nerd, didn't you?

  You wanted to go to Yale, maybe even Harvard.

  …but instead drafted into the lust and greed of the streets.

  But you never did anything wrong without questioning it, or doubt in your mind.

  But still… actions have consequences.”

  Taking a moment to see their tear ridden faces, filled with horror.

  Smirking even more at their fates.

  “And you have a child to take care of, George.”

  “You… get to survive, but only because I sympathize with you, not because I have a slight sliver of care for you.

  If it came to mind, I wouldn't hesitate at killing you nor if you were even erased from history.

  Remember that.

  Always remember that when you sleep at night.

  Trying to delve into lust and pride.

  I'll be there, ready to rip your heart out like a savage.”

  A few seconds later, George was let go from the Telekinesis hold.

  Running past the corpse of their dead friend's, now its eyes were completely silky white and gray.

  While George shed tears and stumbled around as he ran.

  “Now… you three.

  I'll enjoy ripping you out like stuffed animals.”

  No one really knows what happened to them.

  Maybe they survived, maybe they didn't.

  But what Link II knew was that he did something completely inhumane.

  Not even close to the crime of cannibalism, but something violent and brutal.

  Hearing the sounds of their guts ripping apart into a molten flesh hybrid.

  Making them see their own body parts as they died.

  Screaming, whimpering, and begging in forgiveness as they died.

  Around 20 minutes later, the clock read 6 AM.

  Link II snapped out of his nightmare and screamed at the gruesome sight in front of him.

  Guts all over the place.

  Hearts near the garage entrance door.

  Bodies of the three gangsters hung in the house.

  Skulls with mouths open, the smell of death stuffed the air.

  Their chests wide open but with no guts inside, just empty human flesh and bone.

  Link II bolted for a moment.

  …but he heard a voice in his head.

  “Why are you so freaked out, elf boy?”

  Turning around, he saw the shadow again.

  Now understanding why he saw it.

  This shadow was foreshadowing this very event since his birth.

  Where he brutally killed these four people in not only his home.

  But something more behind the scenes hid like a rat.

  “... what did you do?”

  Link II asked shakenly.

  While Duckworth replied playfully.

  “Me?

  Oh, I just made some right judgments like a grim reaper.

  That's our job, isn't it?

  To judge the humans with our superior superpowers and become a judge of this pathetic planet of human meat bags?”

  Link II, shaken by the amount of blood on him, more than his last incident.

  Guts on the carpet, slowly began to clean as he had with Samuel one year ago.

  The sound of skin flapping against carpet floors filled the air.

  Around 40 minutes later, at 6:40, the clock spoke.

  He was finished cleaning the bodies.

  Puking between cleaning motions.

  The disgust he felt from the guilt, from the grief of cleaning the bodies he killed.

  Knowing Duckworth killed them more brutally than a boy could.

  Link II sat down for a moment, feeling the immense guilt...

  Yet, A .357 revolver, still having the bullets and in clear shape to be used.

  Dropped by one of the gangsters as they died.

  He glanced at it; nearly reaching towards it, his desperation to have safety in his own home felt powerful.

  Like the urge of sugar.

  Quickly grabbing it and rushing to the mirror again.

  Now looking at his blood-covered self.

  Eyes of daggers.

  Hair of pitch black.

  The tiny childlike body intertwined, now having hand marks and wounds.

  Duckworth spoke again.

  “Don't be a pussy, you know you want this to happen.

  Do it, you sick fuck.

  You wanted every gut to rip apart like candy!

  Just pull it!”

  Link II slowly aimed at his head.

  Crying tears just as pathetically as the gangsters.

  But with no sound, almost like crocodile tears.

  He surprisingly kept wanting it to happen too.

  …at the same time, he couldn't pull the trigger.

  Having this urge to pull it.

  But something within him, asked him.

  “... please don't, I love you, we love you, you deserve so much relief rather than this hell… please don't commit to the problem.”

  Sounding exactly like a mother to her son.

  Link II finally grumbled, unloading the bullets from the cylinder.

  The clinking of bullets sounded like fallen glass.

  Putting the revolver back on the floor.

  He stared at the mirror in the bathroom.

  Meekly kneeling, head down in shame.

  Almost like he wanted to be forgiven for what he had committed, even if he knew he didn't do it.

  Looking at the clock, it had been a full hour and five minutes he had been in self-destruction.

  7:45 AM, the clock said.

  Hearing a similar noise outside.

  Police sirens.

  The cops showed up due to the commotion, a noise complaint from the neighbors.

  While Link II sprinted outta there, hopping over his backyard gate and sprinting into the streets.

  Lost.

  Confused.

  Physically and mentally traumatized.

  In his mind, only one thing mattered more to him than anything else.

  To run as fast as a motherfucking child can.