3 Necropolis: Scene 3: Demon Encounter
As the air grew cold fast, Nero could feel frost gather on his eyelashes, he reaches for his gun. Suddenly a fist the size of a Mack truck, cold, covered in thorns, crashes into his chest, picking him up and tossing him like a rag-doll through the air. All was spun in time, everything slowed as he felt his body drifting through the air, past, and present slipped. Distantly he felt his body colliding with the opposite wall. There he collapsed in a crumpled heap, but oddly enough his conscience does not leave him. He feels hot liquid run down his chest, darkening his neat white shirt. Through slitted eyes he sees the blurred shape of a huge humanoid, he shakes his head to clear his vision. He can see the abomination that just sucker-punched him. The massive thing was pail and hulking, His hand still has his gun. He’s up and firing. Running at the monster. The small head was atop a massive body of unnaturally large and vigorous muscles, neck thinker than Neos thy. White, with blue-green veins pulsing through translucent skin. “It has NO eyes,” Nero would think later, instead its head was ringed with horns like that of deer antlers intertwining, covering the crown of the head and running down the back and over the large neck like a main of wicked deadlocks. The back of his hands, wrist, and forearm was covered in the same thorns, Nero could feel the pain in his chest and gut where the fist of the creature had punched him. His only thought was to defend himself and anyone near this abomination as it attacked. Everything happened so fast, time seems to pause, Nero’s feet are moving, he barely notices the bench ahead of him, he leaps, still firing into the chest of the beast. The beast swings and misses, Nero ducks, roles and comes up still firing. The guns auto dry clicking, bullets spent, empty. The beast is dead. Or so Nero is thinking as he walks over to the smoking hulk. Its chest a large gaping hole, but upon patron closer inspection, what Nero thought was a heap of bloody muscles and dreadlocks is nothing but a flesh and blood man, no it’s not, it’s a sculpture of some forgotten greek god, sculpted in the likeness of the rich patron, the rich fuck who was buried or whatever is sealed in this thing called in the tomb or crypt. ‘Damn! HQ will be pissed and…' Nero’s thoughts trail off. The stone chest is fractured and smoking. By this time, his eyes and head are clear and he could have sworn it was bleeding. Shaking his head to clear the ...
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