Fanfic: Hegira (1/1)

[smokingmirror]

Title: Hegira
Author: Avarice
Rating: R
Pairing: -
Spoilers: The Initiative
Summary: Can't keep a good predator down...
Word Count: 346
Date First Posted: - 2001
Date Revised - 11-05-2011
Beta: -
Awards: -
Notes: Hegira - One definition is from Exodus, meaning 'a journey, especially when undertaken to escape a dangerous or undesirable situation. Improv fic - moist, grace, pure, fist, escape.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.

He catches the scent on the moist breeze. It is injured, and it is frightened. His insides hum with primal need.

 

Beautiful.

 

He follows its potent blood trail for some yards before accelerating his speed to overtake its desperate flight. He almost chuckles to himself, but does not allow himself the luxury of spoiling his stealth.

 

But the smile -- which is little more than the lifting of lips to bare deadly teeth -- cannot be contained.

 

After all, escape is no longer possible... wouldn't you smile?

 

His blood bubbles, and he knows he can prolong this, almost indefinitely. But tonight... tonight is a night for quick death.

 

Well... of a fashion.

 

Concealed in inky shadows, he sees his prey stumble forth. Alone and afraid, its eyes dart back and forth.

 

It knows who is waiting for it.

 

It knows it will not survive.

 

He smiles.

 

Twinkle twinkle little eye, now it's time for you to die.

 

He leaps forth without a sound, his body scything through night air with preternatural grace.

 

His hands become as lethal as any part of him. A fist held high in the air -- in the pause before it descends to connect again -- displays his blood-drenched knuckles proudly to the moon. He pounds, pummeling flesh, cracking bone, gouging eyes. The snaps and screams are audible to anyone with ears.

 

Ribs shatter, lungs puncture, stomach splits.

 

(crack)

 

This is right.

 

(snap)

 

This is pure.

 

(tear)

 

I am forever.

 

(die)

 

And you are not.

 

A sanguine spray arcs through the air, and the larynx, muscles, jugular -- anything that makes the throat what it is -- is torn away from its home. Crimson rains down, staining pale hair red.

 

Blood screams, so very loud.

 

He looks down at his fallen demonic opponent, who is harmless now, and had been before death.

 

He licks the blood off his knuckles, knowing he hasn't lost his taste for violence, knowing that that is important.

 

The chip isn't going to be in forever.

 

He smiles.

 

(I am forever)

 

(and you are not)

 

 

 

~finis