“Hey, pencil-dick,” said Bill, as they traveled the worn path and came in sight of Madisonville. “You have a hole in your shoe so big even my penis would fit into it.”
“You know, you can really be disgusting,” I replied. “I don’t know why the big guy keeps you around.”
“He loves me. He just doesn’t know it yet,” replied Bill. “One of these days I’m going to get him to crack a smile.”
“Good luck with that,” I said as I looked at HIM in bewilderment. Did HE even hear us? In all these years, I had never seen him smile, cry, or even laugh. He knows we are here, but it is rare that he ever recognizes us, and when he does, all we usually get is just a nod from his head. What was behind that dark stare?
I met HIM on that solemn day, almost five years ago. It was shortly after they butchered his wife and daughter and sent him forth on his destructive path of darkness. For someone who has killed so many, at first appearance he was not what you would expect. He was slightly above average height, with a thatch of light-brown hair, frosted with a tinge of gray. His face had a noble look, with a high forehead and a granite, square chin. His nose was larger than most men’s, seeming slightly out of proportion; however, it did not lessen his attractiveness. His eyes were narrow, possibly from years of squinting to avoid the dust and ash that churns across the landscape. But if you looked closely into those eyes, you would see the vibrant sparkle of blue and a combination of both sadness and intelligence. You would think that someone of his grim nature would be covered head to toe in scars from his many battles. However, the only ones he carried were very small, adorning his left cheek and temple.
He was dressed completely in black. No armor whatsoever covered his body. Instead, his clothes were loose and baggy, meant for speed and flexibility. Sometimes when he moved a certain way, you could see the muscles ripple beneath the cloth. However, he wasn’t overly muscled. His stature was more like Apollo than Hercules. To finish off his attire, two long swords were strapped on each side of a belt, tied unceremoniously around his waist.
Unfortunately, I never had the honor of meeting his family, but others say his wife balanced strength and beauty like no other woman. They say she was small and lithe but could back down people twice her size with her quick wit and ferocious independence. With the roar of a tiger, she protected that little cub daughter of hers, but also with uncompromising love.
His daughter was said to be a princess on the rise, blessed with a regal bearing that commanded respect from anyone who met her. Kindness came naturally to her, but she was her mother’s daughter, and pity the fool who confused this with naivety. She was gorgeous and could have led just in beauty alone, as every young boy chased after her, and every old man wished he was young enough to be with her. To top this off, she was brilliant beyond imagination, and many believed that one day she would be the leader who would bring mankind back to greatness.
Sometimes for a moment, when I think about his family, I can see why he changed into this dark demi-god of destruction, but then my rational mind pulls me back and I know I can never be like him. How can someone only be a weapon and not have a conscience any more? What they did to his family was beyond horrible, but I fear what he has become. Even if he kills them all, what will be the point if he loses his soul? Will he become as dark as Satan himself? What will Bill and I do to stop him, if that is the destiny he is led to?
That’s right, I kind of skimmed by Bill, and you don’t really know much about him. Bill joined our little trio exactly one year after the death of our dark friend’s family. Our silent companion marks the anniversary on a saddlebag, and that’s why I remember it so well. He had just finished marking the bag, and not a second later Bill just rides into our camp unannounced. It surprised the hell out of me. No one ever sneaks up on us, yet Bill made it seem easy. He cracked some joke about how loud our farts were and that’s why we didn’t hear him. If you haven’t figured it out by now, Bill is the comedian of our trio. He drives me crazy most of the time, but at least I have someone to talk to. I think I would have gone insane if it wasn’t for Bill. In the five years that I’ve traveled with my dark and brooding friend, he hasn’t spoken a word. Bill has been my comic relief and the complete opposite of our silent partner.
“Hey, big guy, the village is just over that hill,” said Bill. “Doesn’t that hill look like a big titty? Maybe it looks that way cause I haven’t been laid forever. What do you think, Mr. Rational?”
“I think you have no manners,” I replied. I turned toward HIM and said, “Bill and I will stay at the top of the hill and cover your retreat. Signal us if you need any help.”
He was already moving away, and I don’t even know if he heard us. I don’t know why I always ask him if he needs help. Even if he did, he wouldn’t ask for it. We could see the village below, and it wasn’t much different than the hundreds of villages we had seen over the years. However, you haven’t been with us all this time so let me indulge you.
Most villages we come across are completely destroyed, but there have been a few where every structure is left intact. This village was a combination of both. On the east side, there were several structures still standing; some of these were even more than one level in height. Almost all of the windows were broken. The shards of glass that remained looked like hungry fangs ready to attack. Doors were missing or hanging by a few threads on their hinges. Most of the roofs were gone, and the ones that remained sagged or twisted inward, like some kind of deformity hoping to be put out of its misery. In all its awkwardness, at least the east side had remained with a small essence of its former self. The west side was nothing more than a crumbling mess of chaos. Nothing remained standing. It was littered with broken concrete and debris, melancholy, and deserted of life.
The worst part was the rancid smell. From where we stood, it must have been close to a hundred yards to the village, yet I needed to cover my face as I felt the compulsion to vomit. I glanced at Bill and saw he was in the same predicament, hanging over his horse and dry heaving like a rat had crawled down his throat. Yet my dark friend didn’t seem bothered in the least by the toxic smell. With only the purpose of death on his mind, he continued trotting forward, emotionless.
It was at this point that I saw the dark shapes start to move out from the structures to the east. First, it was only one figure, but then one by one several more appeared. They were as black as the night sky, shambling about with that dead look on their faces, but demons aren’t dead. I know this because I’ve seen them up close. They breathe, they think, and best of all they bleed. They may not seem alive in the same way as we are, but in their own way they live. They live for pure evil.
The creatures come in all sizes. I have seen some a full head taller than myself and others as short as a young child. This, however, seems to be the only difference. Every single one that we’ve encountered is hairless from head to toe, even the eyebrows are missing. Their eyes are dull and lifeless, almost zombie-like. If I didn’t know any better, I would think they were blind. Their dark skin is shriveled, covered with open sores, oozing pus in a never-ending stream of decay, covering gaunt, emaciated bodies.
They appear to be more human than animal, and their actions make me believe this to be true. Of all the species on this planet, only man tortures others, and these black soulless creatures are experts in this area. Time after time, I have seen them torture survivors like us in their sadistic rituals, cutting flesh little by little, all the while screaming fanatically in praise to their dark master. However, this time they seemed to be alone.
As my dark friend approached, they made way and let him enter into their ranks. They soon had him completely surrounded, but caution held them from attack. My friend’s reputation had grown over the years, and even demons could now feel fear of HIM.
“You may pass. Our master is waiting for you at Hus-town,” spoke the lead demon in its gurgled, black speech.
My friend, as usual, made no response. He sat steadily on his mount with no indication that he had even heard the monstrosity speak.
The lead demon in a frustrated tone raised its voice and said, “You may leave. We will not attack you!”
Once again, no response from my dark friend. What this demon didn’t realize was that it didn’t matter if they attacked or not. They were already dead, and there was nothing they could do to stop it from happening.
“Bring out the popcorn. The show is about to start,” said Bill with his usual chuckle. “I’ll bet you a brewsky that you can’t see his blades move.”
“I’ll take that bet,” I responded with a smile.
The lead demon was infuriated over the disrespect it received in not being acknowledged. The creature took a step forward and pointed its spear toward HIM. It was the last thing the monster ever did, and I wonder if it even had time to understand its mistake. I told you earlier how uncanny the speed of my friend was. For years Bill and I had made a bet on which one of us would be first to see his swords move. ...
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