Prelude: Piazza di San Pietro
(Page 17 of 20)
Samantha looked at the creature’s face, still in the feral form from prior to the injection. His appearance was that of a wild animal in the moments before death. She realized he’d given up; the fighting nothing more than instinct honed over decades of battle. Grown weary with his life, something inside him would not let go.
The remaining two guards circled Demetrius, ready to prey upon any opening, any weakness.
“I’ll not be damned.” He grimaced, and a thick wooden pole punched through the back of his lung. Demetrius heard the voices of the dead, growing silent in whisper. Whispers of the terrible things they would do to him once he joined them. He shivered in pain as the pole was tugged from the gash, leaving splinters to twitch next to shattered nerve endings.
“I’ll not be damned.” The requiem brought up a mouthful of blood and salty liquid as the woman with the silver hilted sword took a mass of flesh from the base of his neck. The dead were silent, save a small laugh.
“I’ll not be damned.” His chant ground against the ears of his attackers, bloody tears filling his eyes as he glared at the boy before him.
“Oh, but you will be damned, Demetrius. And I’m sure you have plenty of enemies waiting for you in Hell.” Cheval plunged his bone-knife deep into Demetrius’ belly, twisting into his innards.
“You could easily be among them, boy.” Demetrius’ face twitched as the blade spun. Then, his form began to crackle like a piece of burning wood. Shimmering, it appeared insects were crawling just beneath his skin, their glossy backs materializing with each fissure breaking his tightly stretched hide.
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