Page 31 of Pride: Kneel Before None

My hand clamped around his throat with crushing strength that would have snapped the fragile cervical column of a human’s neck. I hoisted him into the air above me, my whole body vibrating with rage. Nostrils flared as palpable fury filled the damp air between us.

With a guttural roar that would have sent hellhounds whimpering with their tails between their legs, I pitched Percy’s body across the small space where he collided with the far wall.

His body met immovable objects, one meaty thud against the wall echoed by another as he fell to the floor.

Goddamn, it was immensely satisfying to hear.

I flexed my hands, itching to feel his cool flesh rip apart between my fingers.

He scrambled to his feet, slower and dazed.

Nothing else existed except this asshole and the haunting sounds of suffering I was determined to draw out of him.

Closing the distance between us, soft taps of my dress shoes whispered against the grimy floor. The cracked concrete was not only discolored from previous inhabitants who had met their demise here, but also bore a sticky layer guaranteed to collect further filth.

Patience settled over me like a wraith’s hand on my shoulder.

As Percy straightened to his full height, it only put him at the same level as my chin. His lips were drawn back, exposing the jagged, discolored fangs that carried the stench of rancid blood.

Time slowed.

The air grew thick, but my movements sliced through it with terrifying ease.

The first blow was with my fist, straight to his temple, snapping his head to the side. He staggered off balance.

Perfect.

That was for looking at her.

The second blow came from my left hook. I didn’t flinch when his teeth cracked under the impact and cut through the tender flesh of his cheek.

That was for thinking about tasting her.

Fucking leech.

The third blow was brutal contact of his nose clashing with my head. Bones crunched in surrender to the force, blood gushed from his nose, and his gurgled protest brought a dark smile to my face.

That was for disrespecting her.

The next twenty strikes? Well, those were all for her, too.

Somewhere between the pitiful yelps, piercing screams, and gasped breaths, I learned some unexpectedly useful information. It seemed that Rip had been running his mouth in the slums of Superbia, searching for the most deranged of us all to join his horde.

You didn’t go to the maggot-infested bowels of Superbia in search of reliable monsters. You went there for volatile weapons that latched onto targets like a rabid lycan. You went there looking for nightmares masquerading as unassuming demons.

By the time Percy lay twitching on the ground, nerves misfiring across his body, the choked sounds that resembled pathetic pleas for mercy became a glorious song of surrender. In response, my pulse thrummed like a war drum’s victorious beat.

Blood mixed with sweat marked my body in splatters and sprays, painting me a vision of violence. The knuckles on both my hands were split open, seeping red in heavy lines. My face, set in stone and fire, promised the ultimate punishment.

I never spoke a word. I never had to.

All of this had been for her, my Little Spade. Not fucking Caz. Not for the betterment of Superbia. Not for some moral high ground I was incapable of achieving.

But the final assault? That was all mine. A jagged piece of wood harvested from a charred putrefactive tree of the seventh circle of Hell plunged into his chest. The impact splintered several bones of his ribcage, and decay bloomed outward to consume what remained of his misshapen form.

The process of true death came too quickly for dear ol’ Percy. When nothing but ashes and globs of bodily fluids remained at my feet, only then did I allow myself to acknowledge my righteous deed.

Pride in my ability to keep what was mine safe. Pride in upholding my duty as a Knight of Hell. Pride that kept me from feeling any remorse over unleashing unspeakable violence on this irrevocably dead fuckface.