Runaway Devil
13

I was finally allowed to go back to work. Stitch's instructions were clear. I stuck to them, I understood the futility of trying to work. To fill my time I did what I've done since I was young. I trained. I ran. I worked my body past exhaustion. Since coming top side I've committed to assessing myself, taking note of the effects of being out of my element.

The extra energy it takes to keep my body going up here was exponential. I don't need to eat every day, but when I do I need to gorge. Keeping my form at bay wasn't helping either. I ground my palms into my closed eyes, trying not to think too hard about any of it.

The frigid air seeped through the window effectively sending a parallel wave of agitation through my body. I reined in my growl and swallowed it before it could bloom. I held its rumbling in my chest, wrapping my will around my frustrations like a white-knuckled fist. I took a deep breath and sat up. Balan picked his head up, resting it on my shin, hoping that it would keep me in bed. "You were never this lazy back home," I said with a raised brow. Although his warmth was tempting, I steeled my will and got up anyway. I had decided to take the week off from school as well as the forced vacation, but going back was harder than I predicted.

My apartment was organized once again, but more of my clothes had holes in them. The shirt I pulled over my head looked like it had been worn through several apocalypses. I felt the pack of cigarettes in my jacket pocket, and my coffee was on the kitchen counter, ready to be chugged. I checked for essentials before heading out the door.

"Someone's back from the dead fellas," Ben said, giving Jerry an elbow to the ribs.

"You have no idea." I sat heavily on the bench beside them and glanced their way. "Anything new since I've been gone?"

They paused, sifting through the last week of events. They both shook their heads with the same level of disinterest. The lack of activity in this town was painful. That was my main attraction to it but now that I was in the middle of it, I was almost regretting my choice. Even the gang violence was boring. I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees as I sank deeper into discomfort.

I was rethinking the decision I made that fateful day. Breaking the chains of servitude to an order that would sooner be rid of a strong soul than take advantage of it. I was their strongest asset. But due to insecurity in their rule and shortsightedness, I was targeted. I ran, for the first time in my life, I had run from something.

The thought disgusted me. Running, fleeing. The idea made me want to spit. I couldn't keep the sneer from my face. I don't run from battle. Every fiber in my being screamed to punch through the thick of it. I guess that was why I started the rebellion as I ran. I couldn't leave without setting the whole operation aflame. The council set the kindling, I was the spark.

But that spark, my flame, was fading. The monotony of human life was deeply unsettling, unnatural. I could never look at any human with respect, not true respect. That was reserved for my battalion. Nothing and no one could rival it.

Another problem humans had was lack of subtlety. I could smell Dante's men from a mile off, and they were loud. They did nothing to hide. But then again, I may hold a standard far too high. They waited until the school was empty, all civilians filtering through the parking lot. On our way out, Jerry stopped short of his car, his keys slipping from his relaxed fingers.

"Um, guys." He pointed to the tree line behind the building. Dante's men oozed from the woods, attempting to shroud themselves in an intimidating dramatic flare. Issac looked from me to them a handful of times while he shook like a small dog.

"You guys get out of here, I'll take care of this." I handed my bag to Jerry. His arm was still extended, and I hung my bag on it like a coat rack. "Don't wait up."

"Like you did last time? Kara-" Ben gestured to the crowd that was forming of Dante's boys. "-there are, like, five times-"

"I said go." My tone offered no room for argument. I was itching for a fight. I needed it. I needed a release. And if pounding a couple dozen humans was necessary, I was not only willing but ready. If I allowed them to capture me, which was their intent, to begin with, they would take me to their hideout. Instead of dealing with the symptoms you attack the source.

"Kara!" Issac's aggression made us all pause. We all turned to him with widened eyes. "We are not going to leave you, don't be ridiculous. We are not going to let you take care of this." He put air quotes around the words I had said. He said them as if they tasted bitter in his mouth.

I took a deep breath, steadying my temper. No one had spoken to me like that in years. It made my face color with indignation. I growled through clenched teeth, letting my gaze fall on him. He had his fists tightly wound at his side, his face a mask of frustration. His cheeks were pink and his eyes were hard, his glasses slipping down his nose, like always. "Fine, meet me back at my place if that makes you feel any better. I'll be back within the night." They didn't move. "Now go." I let my voice drop an octave lower, into demon territory. The hair visibly rose on their arms and they all piled into the car without further argument.

I turned back to the growing group of people collecting in the schoolyard. I cracked my neck, rolled my shoulders, and smiled.

They charged without instruction, another aspect of humans that I didn't understand. These men were soldiers, Dante was their superior, their commander. While in the throws of boot camp, it was pounded into our heads to obey, to follow instructions without questioning them. Ever. Fortunately, once I surpassed that highest rank, I became one of the Elites. We didn't have commanders, we were deployed and trusted to take care of the situation without orders. We were the last resort. One that they used often.

They raised their bats, their crowbars, their knives, and put on their best monster faces. But they had no idea what kind of monster I was hiding beneath my own. Their lips curled into sneering smiles, they could barely keep their excitement for blood under control.

I stretched my shoulders and grinned. I heard Jerry's car peel out of the parking lot, which made this easier. They had a level of trust in me that I appreciated. I would never understand why, but they didn't change the fact that I needed it right now.

I let them come. I watched as they ran, their only goal was to spill my blood. But not kill me. The way I had humiliated Dante during our last encounter meant that they would take me back alive, and make me feel the same. The thought was laughable, they would never possess the means of doing so. But I was going to let them try.

A tall, burly man brought his bat straight down, his trajectory was for my collar bone or head, but his wooden bat met my forearm. It splintered on impact, I felt the jolt through my semi-human bones. It rudely reminded me that I was operating within the confines of my skin, a skin that was far more human than I was used to. The broken bat cut my arm with its follow-through, the superficial wound looking much worse than it was.

The scent of my own blood made me see red. I wrapped my arm around and caught his own, grasping it in an inhuman death-grip. I bore holes through his head with my gaze and glared at him. I stepped through him, placing my foot behind his stable leg, and threw him over my hip. I sent him sprawling with a pulled rotator cuff. He won't be able to move it without excruciating pain for weeks.

I avoided a crowbar, reaching out to the faceless man swinging it. I could feel his eyes bulging beneath my fingers, and his teeth on my palm as he cries out. I shoved him away, hard, whipping his neck enough to keep him on the ground.

The knives were a little bit more fun to play with. It's always funny to stab someone with their own knife while it's still in their hands. Then they can feel the blade cutting through and gnarling their own flesh. And the different consistencies of flesh was fascinating to feel with a blade. The way it sliced through skin and fat like butter but paused when it hits meat. Then it pushed through the muscle and hit the hard, halting bone. My mouth began to water. I licked my gums, longing for my fangs.

I only wanted to kill a few of them, not all, but enough to just feel it again. To see if I still liked it and if a dying human was different from a dying angel.

They were all panting, sweat rolling down their brows as they tried to overpower me. Their wrists were loose, which meant I could snatch their weapons from their fingers like they were toddlers. So I did. I had left a trail of bodies, some writhing, others laying quietly, behind me. I prowled towards a new clump. The scene before them caused pause among the men. I could see them working up the courage, the confusion behind their dull eyes.

One bounced a little on his toes, inhaled deeply, and charged with a scream just short of a fucking banshee. He held his knife at the ready, his plan was to make a wild swing. He hoped that his scream was jarring enough to catch me off guard. Hope was a useless thing.

I caught his wrist in a two-handed hold and brought his elbow down onto my rising knee. I snapped it so it bent the wrong way with a satisfying snap. His scream halted in his young throat and his eyes bugged from his skull. He stared at this thing that was once his arm and his jaw slackened. His eyes clouded and all the color left his face. He was going to vomit. I took the knife from his clammy palm and rested the tip just above his bellybutton. The knife was relatively large, one that was used for hunting.

I caught his eyes with my own, and held his gaze as I slipped the knife in. I felt my own jaw slacken in a darkly erotic expression. I pulled the knife upwards, feeling his meat giving beneath it, almost like I was unzipping him. His blood and organs spilled at our feet, the pile giving off steam in the chilled air. I felt the moist heat through my jeans on my shins, soaking into my boots.

His eyes, right before they lost their life, sharpened. He had a brief moment of awareness, of shock, right before I snuffed his light. Out brief candle.

I let him crumble like a wilting flower. I pivoted in his blood, dropped the hunting knife, and bowed theatrically. As I straightened I put my hands up in surrender, in all their blood spattered glory.

The only way that this capture would be believable is if I let them beat me. They had to draw blood if they were to really believe they over powered me. So I felt their crowbars and pipes. I felt them bruise my bones, I felt the split of skin across my face from a sharpened pipe. I spit blood from a loosened tooth, the kick was well placed across my jaw. They grabbed at my body like animals, they didn't just want my blood, they wanted me dead. I knew humans liked violence, but I was not expecting the fervor.

The weight of them on my back made me groan, I felt my human organs being squeezed. It made the blood rush to my face, it felt like they were trying to squelch all of it from my body. I was heaved off the ground and thrown over a shoulder. One more well placed swing from a bat knocked me out.

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