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Author Topic: Honey, Stalin Took the Kids ~Saving the High School!  (Read 7193 times)

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Offline Coldmiser8675

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Honey, Stalin Took the Kids ~Saving the High School! Ch. 5
« Reply #45 on: January 23, 2017, 09:46:21 PM »
Don't be a Russian me on this

Chapter 5:

The air was dry, the sky an ash-stricken gray.  The soldiers marched through the destroyed remains of the town still, their weapons raised in pride and triumph. It had been a whole year since the war ended, and Berlin was left a smokey ruin. Bodies were still hidden and yet to be discovered, and their rotting flesh reeked the surface, haunting all who dare walk the grounds, the foul odor of death. The soldiers in green and red marched through, not to collect body count or clean, but to merely pass through to the next city with a terrifying purpose.

~ ~ ~

 She gazed out the window of her small home, an innocent young girl wearing a silk nightgown, and hair straight and spilling to the middle of her back. The moon hovering above Halle an der Saale always captivated her with its innocent round shape and glow, brighter than the millions of stars glittering over the vast night sky.  Watching it visit every night in various shapes had always given her a captivating joy. It was watching the moon that always held her through the booming cries of bombs and missiles, the echoing skirmishes of men, and bullet exchanges that had gone on for countless days. But now at last it was all quiet and still, though the war had left a mark upon her homeland. There were houses that took on the echoes of explosions in Berlin, and so were crumbled. Her school, her favorite stores, were just piles of smoking debris.

“Serafina,” came a sweet nurturing voice from within the house. “It’s time to get ready for bed, dear.”

The young girl turned away from the window and in the direction of her mother’s voice. With a quiet nod, she ran off and wrapped around her waist. They embraced for a short moment, silent. The entire house itself was as still as the dead Berlin nearby, and was almost just as bad in shape. Candles were held on the sills of their windows, flickering only small puddles of light.

The young Serafina streaked warm tears, and spoke softly,

“I won’t be able to sleep. What if those men come in?”

The mother brushed her tears away with a gentle hand.

“They won’t come in, I promise you. We’re safe.” She kissed her daughter on the forehead, and took her hand.

Together they walked into the young girl’s bedroom: a small space with depressingly gray walls, a wooden rocking horse, and a small, plain bed. A candle sat upon a window sill that looked out at the deserted ghost town of Halle an der Saale, fighting the glow of the round moon with a flickering orange light of its own.

She tucked the girl into bed, kissed her cheek, and then took a seat herself on the rocking horse. Softly, nurturingly, she began to sing. She looked heavenly in the small candle light, the rims of her long black hair reflecting the orange of the candle flame, and her beautiful pallid face lit and looking out at the window. She wore a nightgown herself, ghostly white, and she would retire to her own bed once her daughter fell asleep.

Serafina loved her mother’s singing, just as much as she loved gazing at the bright moon. Slowly, her eyes were cast to the sweet lyrics of “Wiegenlied”, and the black curtain fell upon the day, setting the scene for a new one to come.

~ ~ ~

Savarah Reinhart awoke, eyes stinging from a glance at the dying light of the campfire. As she sat up from her blanket-bed, she felt a warm wetness on her cheeks. With a pale hand, she brushed each side, then,  upon observation, she realized that she had been crying.

It was all a dream, a very pleasant one. But, she knew, something bad was going to happen right after, although she had no idea exactly what it was. Being awake was a huge relief for her. The fire was still going, so she must not have slept for long. She looked around, then at the two lying forms of her friends, backs heaving blissfully in their slumber. She stood up, and walked casually towards a pile of sticks, baby diapers, and other trash they had all piled together. Taking two unidentified dry rags, she tossed them into the flames. As the fire popped more into life, she sat, knees to her chest, staring blankly at the moving flames.

~ ~ ~

“Wake up,” she said.

The sleeping form of Ashley Danhauer groaned awake, and then in an alarmed motion, she sat up, rubbing the corners of her eyes. Her short brown hair was a bit frayed.

“Is Bobby awake?” She muttered, “You know it takes a lot to wake him up.”

“On it.” Savarah took a raw, filthy baby diaper from the pile of trash they collected, and walked over to the sleeping Bobby, who was snoring loudly. She plopped the diaper right on his face. After a few inhales of snoring, the teen grunted, then fully awoke.

“AAAAH!” He frantically threw the diaper away from him. “That’s not cool guys! What the hell?”
“Savarah did it,” Said Ashley, “But it was the only way you’d wake up. You sleep like a dead man...well, if you don’t count the snoring.”

“I don’t snor--”

“Yes you do.” Savarah said. “I was thinking about plugging your mouth with a sock.”

Bobby pouted, then groaned through the stiffness in his knees as he stood himself up. “So I guess we’re on our way now?”

“Yes. This way. We should be nearing the neighboring town soon.”

And so they walked on through the sewers. Bobby held the trash fueled torch in his hand, keeping the wide, slimy interior around them illuminated in an orange glow. To their left, the never ending path of running water, carrying along numerous travelers within its ripples. Dead skunks, beer cans, drowning mice, were only the few of what Bobby had seen since first arriving here. And to him, it was kind of refreshing only having to witness these things right now. There were far worse he’d seen.

“I can’t believe Rich and Teresa got to travel on the roads,” Bobby said, breaking a building silence, “I mean, why are they so special?”

“They’re probably being hunted down as we speak,” replied Ashley, “and besides, they want Savarah more than they want Teresa back.” She took a glance at the purple-haired Savarah. “Is that right?”

Savarah did not reply instantly, and Ashley thought she had not heard, but then,

“yes, that is true. They want me, more than they wanted Teresa.”

“I just don’t get it though,” said Ashley, “why kidnap Teresa and her brothers? Why make her age fourteen more years? Why go through all that when their real aim was kidnapping you?”

“That wasn’t there aim at all,” answered Savarah. “Someone else wished for the Clarks’ capture. I also believe that the abduction of the high school was someone else’s devising.”

“Well, if not the Russians, than who?” asked Bobby. “Is there someone working with them?”

“That would be most likely,” said Savarah.

Then the voice boomed from beyond so suddenly,

“And you are most correct, miss Reinhart.”

They froze at hearing that deep voice echo around the sewer walls, coming from the dark recesses of the tunnel. All of them stayed silent, their eyes glued to the darkness before them. Then the voice echoed again.

“What? No greeting? That’s just rude. Might as well have some introduction…”

“Face us, you coward.” Savarah said coldly. She dropped her hand to her waist, hovering the hilt of a sheathed sword. Running through her skin were glowing purple veins, traveling across her arms, and ran from the bottom of her eyes across both cheeks. She said to Ashley and Bobby, “Get ready for a fight.”

   “Well, if it’s a fight you want, then by all means, you’ll get one.”

Loud growling noises chilled their hearts. They sounded beast-like, beasts unknown to this world. They came from the shadows beyond, companions of the calm man’s voice, one of which Ashley realized had no Russian accent in it. But who was this guy? Who else wanted Savarah?

The many growling sounds approached them rapidly, and Ashley swore they were coming from both the ceiling and the ground.

“Get ready!” Savarah shouted. She unsheathed her sword, and purple sparks flickered around her, the illuminating power of sorcery.

Ashley and Bobby did the same, Ashley withdrawing a whip made of a strong, tropical vine. Her eyes illuminated green, and then, she too began to produce those sparks of sorcery. Bobby clenched his fists, and soon enough each hand became shrouded in a ball of swirling whirlwinds. Any person caught in a sucker punch would be sent spinning and flying.

Bobby had to disregard the torch, as his hands would surely have blown it out. But it turned out that he didn’t even need the light, for all of a sudden creatures that had the bodies of men illuminated the walls with their flaming hair. They crawled towards them, gargling and growling, their red eyes beastly and full of malice. They filled the whole ceiling like an infestation of rats.

“There’s too many!” Ashley cried, “We need to run back!”

But it was too late as one by one, they lept down at them, showing their flaming hound-like faces, their saliva flooded teeth. Their bodies were mountains of muscle, and too quickly did one land on Savarah, knocking her down.

“Savarah!” Bobby charged towards what was now a deathly embrace between Savarah and the flaming man-hound. But he was quickly blocked off with a flaming foe of his own. It landed hard upon him, knocking him down on his back. If not for his sorcery, he would have lost all the air in his lungs, and possibly have been knocked out cold. The creature pinned his arms with its overwhelming strength. It growled at him, salivating through its razor sharp teeth, its blinding hell-hound face inches from his own.

Savarah fought for control of the better position, struggling to keep herself off her back. The flaming man hound was relentless, and his grip was menacing. There was no doubt that if she could not even take one, how could she take the horde of them scaling the walls? She didn’t want to think of them all surrounding them now, and she cursed. The beast-man pushed hard, then tugged, doing its best to pin her down. It nearly succeeded, until Savarah freed her leg and kicked the beast in the chest, then in then jaw. Finally it released its grip, and Savarah leapt for her fallen sword.

Bobby kicked his attacker in the chest, but had no luck of getting the creature off. However, that slight jerk back from the beast gave Bobby enough space to pry his arm free, and punch the creature off with his whirlwind fist. Meanwhile, Ashley cracked her whip at the three creatures who lept at her. The whip was strong, and actually sent them spiraling downward abruptly. As they tried to climb to their feet, Ashley struck them with the whip once more, and they fell again, with gouging flesh wounds.

Her moment of triumph passed, however, when she glanced up and noticed that at least more than a dozen of the creatures were up above them. As if on a signal, they pounced upon the three teenagers like a rainstorm of bodies.

~ ~ ~

Check out my story! Honey, Stalin Took the Kids >>http://forums.mangaraiders.com/index.php/topic,13888.0.html

Offline Coldmiser8675

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Honey, Stalin Took the Kids ~Saving the High School! Ch. 6
« Reply #46 on: January 25, 2017, 08:14:05 PM »
Chapter 6! Here it is! Thank you to all who read and have been patient with the releasing of chapters. You have my sincerest gratitude!

Chapter 6:

What was believed to have been the end, turned out to have been an instant-win that vanished from the enemy’s grasp. The bodies of flaming beasts were thrown violently through the sewers, as if some explosion repelled them off. That was actually, in fact, the case, as Bobby was standing with both arms engulfed in whirlwinds. Sparks of sorcery flickered around him, and what little muscles he had, were bulging, veins thick and blue. His long, dirty blonde hair was flowing as if caught in a hurricane.

   “Let’s go guys! Hurry!”

Savarah and Ashley both struggled to get to their feet, and Bobby had to rush over and help them. However, as he attempted to pull Savarah up by the arm, he staggered. His head felt light and dizzy, and for a split second he lost all awareness, then blinked it back. Savarah was the one that kept him from falling over.

“You over-exerted yourself. Our sorcery is not as easy and unlimited as it used to be.”
Ashley was on her feet and ran towards Savarah, helping her and Bobby coordinate themselves.

“Come on! We’ll both grab Bobby!”

They each held one of Bobby’s arms and started fleeing away as best they could. It was only a matter of time before those beasts and whoever called out to them will recover from that surprise defense. They were running so hopelessly slow, and there was no doubt in Ashley’s mind that they were going to be caught. The situation was hopeless.

Her leg muscles burned, and every other muscle just wanted her to lie down and rest. Warding off the beasts on top of them was a tiring task, and it nearly drained her. The beasts were too strong.

Neither of them could  see the path, for they were in complete darkness. Without the torch--their only light-- finding their markings on the walls to retrace their steps will be a difficult task.

Suddenly, Bobby screeched his feet to a halt, causing the two girls to jolt backwards.

“You guys go. Now. I’m just slowing you down.”

Ashley spoke out immediately.

“No way in hell are we going to do that!”

Savarah was silent, but her grip on Bobby’s arm was firm. That could speak which side she stood on in Bobby’s idea.  Bobby looked to each of them pleadingly.

“You have to! They’re going to get us at this rate! I can hear them! Please! We cannot let them get Savarah! GO! Now!”

He shook his arms, fighting the strong hold of Savarah. Her eyes bore into his, and then, she cried out,

“We’re not leaving you! Not to them!”

Bobby was fazed only a little, but quickly he broke away, freeing himself from her. He ran towards the danger, towards the beasts. Ashley had to hold onto Savarah, as she was desperate to go after him, to catch him. Oh how things have changed, Ashley thought. A few months back, Bobby was the scared one, running away. Now, here he is, head-first into danger, unarmed, and weakened.

She heard the bone-chilling growls, saw the distant glow of flaming heads. All too quickly did she see them leap down from the ceiling, like a rain of fire. She turned away, and, with a firm grip on Savarah’s wrist, she pulled and ran into the darkness. Savarah was struggling to be free, her cheeks moist with tears. She kept calling out to her, to let her go. Ashley turned and grabbed Savarah by the collar, then releasing her hold on the girl’s wrist, she slapped her across the face.

“He’s gone Savarah! Don’t let his sacrifice go in vain! Woman up and let’s go! For our lives!”

Savarah pursed her lips, her eyes reddened from sadness, her face frowning like a little girl’s. With something almost like a nod, she consented, and the two ran off, unhandicapped, into the darkness.

~ ~ ~

Bobby was carried by a mass of small, muscular bodies, then he felt himself placed down gently on wet, mucky ground. He blinked once, twice, awake. His head was so tired, and every muscle in his body refused to move. His strength conditioning for bearing the sorcery within him had been all for naught, or perhaps, he hadn’t done enough of it. Either way, he was caught by these monstrous creatures, only able to put up not even a show of a fight. Will they eat him alive, knowing that he isn’t Savarah Reinhart? Will they torture him?

A figure emerged from the darkness, entering into the illuminating light of the beasts’ flaming skulls. He was the shape of a man, in a luminous white suit and tie. His face was handsome and chiseled, with long, groomed brown hair. The man also had a goatee, trimmed to appear sinister.

He looked at the teenager with calm, but beastly eyes.

“Ah, looks like we got one. Well done boys.”

The beasts around him started crying out cheerfully, or at least, Bobby assumed they were cheering. The cries were so ear-piercing and hair crawling, that they sounded like animals screeching their last plea before death. Bobby shut his eyes closed, trying to magically cut off the noises, for his arms were useless to him and could not block his ears. He was suddenly jerked upward, grabbed by the back of his collar. To his surprise, it was the man in the suit who hoisted him up, and he stared at him fiercely.

“You will not be forgiven for what you did back there,” the man said to him. Their faces were very close, and Bobby could feel the man’s hot breath on his face. The voice was familiar too. It was the very voice who had initially called them before they had been attacked. He was the one who sent out these horrocious creatures.

“F*ck...you” Bobby breathed, then his eyes shut firmly, into the world of unconsciousness. His head cast down.

The man smiled, and, turning to one of his flaming henchman hunched beside him, said,

“Take him out to our ride back home. Tell the others to make room for their new tenant.” He turned to his henchmen gathered before him. “All of you, go after the two remaining. They couldn’t have gone far. If need be, kill the brown haired one, but take Reinhart alive. If they show no fight, take them both. Go.”

The beasts scuttered away, crawling on the walls and ceiling, growling  all the way back into the depths of the sewers, in the direction where Savarah and Ashley have fled.

The man in the white suit watched them leave, seeing their flaming lights growing distant, until eventually he was shrouded in darkness.

~ ~ ~

Their ride to Russia was not at all what George O’Plucker expected it to be. Sergius Daimon’s man-servant, the butler, whose name had been introduced as Chaz, drove them to a private section of the Bradley airport, and there, parked in the vast lot, was an enormous blimp. Its large envelope was a beige color, and upon the sides were letters in fancy font that spelled out, “Daimon’s Hedge and Wood co.” The gondola attached below was almost a small plane of its own.

“You own a blimp?” O’Plucker found himself asking aloud.

Daimon smiled.

“Oh absolutely. I love the aircraft, and the presence it gives me when it flies through the air. I have been in them countless of times when I was kid, and always dreamed that one day, I would be able to own one myself, to fly wherever I wished.”

“Well, congratulations, your dream came true,” Richard muttered. He looked to Daimon irritated, “But it would be better to travel to Russia discreetly, and not have all their ground missiles locked onto us.”

Daimon’s smile grew wider.

“My dear boy, this aircraft is the strongest of all blimps! I had it designed as an airship, as well as equipped with artillery of its own to detect and defend us from outside strikes. Also, I’ve done a lot of business with the Russians, despite my missions against them. You see, this Putin guy loves my hedges, and I thank God everyday that he isn’t a Soviet.” He laughed heartily.

Richard sighed, then continued on to enter the huge gondola. Teresa kept her glance upon the blimp, her eyes wide with awe. So many things have amazed her since her freedom from the Time-Bending chamber, so many things that she merely read about, and had never even dreamed to see with her own eyes. The snow, for one, was really beautiful. Real trees was another thing, actual houses, fresh air, friends...but this blimp was amazing. She treaded quickly towards the gondola, at the same time trying to keep her excitement discreet. Her old mentor back then had told her about blimps once, but only briefly during his lessons on the second world war. Only through small pictures. He taught her back in those times when she was imprisoned in the chamber, secretly: a treasonous act against the Russians. She had been extremely grateful to him, because if not for him, she would never have been able to survive in this society.

She never would have been able to become good partners with Richard.

O’Plucker casually looked to the left and the right as he walked towards the gondola, and breathed out resolutely as he climbed the steps inside. It might not be a good idea to lean one’s trust towards this odd, old, and wealthy gentleman, but whatever. He relaxed. It felt good not to worry about Russian spies.

The seats within the gondola were that of a first class airplane, if not, then better even. Fine china was neatly placed upon fancy beige cloth on round tables at each seat, and there was even carpeting and heat. The former high school teacher took a seat luxuriously, and leaned his head back to slumber.

Richard and Teresa were led by Sergius to a back door at the end of the gondola.

“So, we have at least eighteen hours until our arrival.” Said Sergius. “So in the meantime, we’ll use this as much as we can.”

He opened the door, and beckoned the two teens to follow him up the few metallic steps. What they surfaced to shocked the adolescents. Below and around the huge gas bags, safely away from the gas, was a running track, punching bags, monkey bars, a cage for martial arts, weights, and even blocks of wood and an axe.

Richard’s eyes lit up.

“You mean, we’re…” He began.

“Yes,” answered Sergius, “we're going to train. And all of you will become stronger within the time we have here.” He sighed. “These foes you go against... I have sensed them to be incredibly powerful. Without my training, there is no way I see you leaving Russia victorious.”

Sergius motioned his hand to show off the training room's contents, and the teens’ eyes followed.

“This exact place was where me and your grandfather have trained, many times. Even your father trained here for a while.”

Suddenly a surge of remembrance sparked Richard’s mind. He had completely forgotten about his father. Where he was, and if he’s been taken hostage along with everyone else in the town was beyond him.

“When do we start training?” Teresa asked.

“Right now.”

~ ~ ~
Check out my story! Honey, Stalin Took the Kids >>http://forums.mangaraiders.com/index.php/topic,13888.0.html

Offline Coldmiser8675

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Re: Honey, Stalin Took the Kids ~Saving the High School!
« Reply #47 on: March 01, 2017, 12:00:26 PM »
Hey all! I've written Chapter seven! I hope you'll all enjoy it!  ;)

Chapter 7:


Richard Mortimer weaved to the side, avoiding a fast thrust of Teresa Clark’s wooden stiletto. Sparks of sorcery flared up and around them both, emitting an aura of strength and unyielding determination. Teresa was relentless, not retreating once, advancing her small but slender body and swiping the wooden training prop at her opponent’s neck and shoulder blades in a blurrying fury. Her opponent performed another weave. A duck. A clever body maneuver. Richard was avoiding her attacks like an acrobat, and was hardly breaking a sweat. Teresa’s eyes narrowed sharply at his grin. She pushed herself harder, swiping more wildly and violent, even aiming for lower vital areas. But of course Richard was too fast for her. Too agile. He had dealt with his powers much longer than she had.

One more violent swipe was evaded and Richard ducked down and slammed his body into her, knocking them both to the ground. Sergius Daimon, who had been watching from the sidelines of the small caged ring, blew through two thick, tan fingers, emitting a loud whistle. Then he shouted the match’s end.

“That’s enough! Game! Richard won the exercise!”

Richard was atop Teresa, his breathing hardly ragged from the exercise and the effort. He looked her in the eyes, and gave her a smile. Teresa’s eyes flickered to his bare and muscular shoulders, his athletically sturdy torso, all gleaming in sweat. All on top of her. Heat seemed to race across her face like a rising thermometer in old cartoons.

“That’ll do Teresa. That’ll do.” He said, and got off of her, standing up onto his feet. He lent out a hand and she accepted.

Sergius Daimon hopped up onto the ring and approached the two teenagers. He was dressed in a nice black business suit, and his charcoal gray hair was combed straight back. He placed a hand on Teresa’s shoulder.

“You lose control of your temper quickly, miss Clark. And that was your downfall. You must be calm and collect at all times, even when the situation looks dire. The greatest of fighters can have the match turned around with patience and strategy.”

Teresa didn’t acknowledge him. She brushed off his hand from her shoulder and retreated off the ring. She made her way towards the water fountain a couple meters down the large olympic running track, bent down, and took small sips. Richard walked over to the corner of the ring, picked up his white t-shirt he had taken off before training, and mopped his forehead.

“She’s a quick learner,” Richard said, wiping the entirety of his face with the shirt. “She understands what she needs to fix in one session, and then in the next one she’s already improved. She’s like a machine.”

Sergius had his eyes remained on her, hands behind his back. “She’s surely not a regular sixteen year old girl.” And after a moment, he said, “I wonder what they had done to her. What kind of sorcery they used to turn her into this.”

Richard looked skeptically at his teacher/trainer. A small smile cracked the man’s tan skin. It was a smile of fascination. For Richard, talking about Teresa’s past had been an uncomfortable topic for both of them, and he’d rather not get into talking about it. But it looked as if Sergius’s observation and his admiration for her combat and sorcery was going to break this desired silence. Perhaps he should speak up.

“Yeah, we don’t really like to talk about it.” He said. “ It would make things awkward.”

Now Sergius turned his beaming face towards Richard, eyebrows arched up, a terrible fascination in his dark eyes. Perhaps that was the worst thing Richard could’ve done.

“Oh,” Sergius said. It wasn’t an, “oh I’m sorry,” but an intriguing “oh?” A gesture for the person to pray continue.

But before Richard could say anything else, George O’Plucker appeared, back heaving. He slouched down and grasped his knees, sweat dripping off his dark forehead. His dress pants were rolled up to the knees, and he was only wearing a white tank top over his slight build. He was gasping heavily and loudly, as if attempting to speak any words. Sergius answered him without having to hear.

“How was the run, Mr. O’Plucker?”

O’Plucker inclined his head, his eyes glaring. When he finally seemed to have his breathing more under control, he breathed,

“You sent Chaz to chase me around with a chainsaw. Why?”
A smile spread throughout Sergius’s thin, dry lips.

“It was the only way to keep you motivated, Mr. O’Plucker. Please understand that I’m trying to help you.”

“Help...me.” O’Plucker repeated in a sarcastic tone.  He cast his head down, and then almost under his breath,  he muttered, “What bullsh*t.”

Along came Chaz, who jogged over with the chainsaw, which was evidently off.  The tall gangly man was dressed in a fine tail coat which contrasted with his thin alabaster skin. His grey eyes along with his porcelain features expressed nothing.

“Chaz,” Sergius called out. “That is enough, thank you. Mr. O’Plucker will be training with the others from now on.”

The man-servant Chaz nodded in agreement, and in one bat-like movement he turned and was jogging his way back towards the downstairs, chainsaw still clenched in both his hands. O’Plucker kept his head cast down. The bastard chased him all around the track for about a half an hour. He was merely sleeping in one of the seats on the gondola when the butler started screaming and making his way toward him, a roaring chainsaw spinning and smoking with horrible malice. Being stranded on the blimp left O’Plucker with no other options than to make his way upstairs and run away.

Sergius placed a hand on the high school teacher’s shoulder.

“Mr. George O’Plucker,” he said calmly. “What would Beverly Clark say if she saw you in this state?’

The room went silent. O’Plucker’s breathing stopped altogether for a brief moment, until finally he slowly inclined his head and stared hard at Sergius Daimon. The man met his glare with an impassive gaze.

“What are you talking about?” O’Plucker said alarmingly. Anger flooded through his words.

“Your thoughts,” said Sergius, “Have been quite showing with memories of her. Hell, they go off like fire alarms, or like the grinding of gears. It’s hard not to notice.”

“You can read thoughts?” O’Plucker had done his best to keep his voice duller, but he just couldn’t cover up his surprise.

“Indeed, but only very strong thoughts, they show like an aura around a person.”

Teresa had walked back over to the ring, blonde hair tied in a ponytail, her white t-shirt tied back and revealing the bottom to middle of her lean torso.

“What aura?” she asked.

“Daimon here can read minds,” blurted Richard, his white shirt was draped around his neck like a towel. “Oh, and O’Plucker digs  your mom.”

She gave a sideways glance towards O’Plucker, who, shrunk his head back low, resuming a tired stance.

“It’s not like that,” he said.

“Then what explains these strong thoughts and feelings?” Daimon asked.

O’Plucker stood up straight, looked Daimon in the eyes, and, with an intimidating frown, said,

“That’s none of your business.”

Silence flew between them. And tension immediately followed suit. Even Richard seemed a little off edge at what was building up.

“Uh, let’s just get back to training, eh?” He said.

Both Daimon and O’Plucker turned their heads simultaneously. Daimon grinned.

“Of course.” He turned back towards O’Plucker. “I’m very sorry I have intruded like that. I just wanted to help motivate you.”

O’Plucker walked passed him.

“Don’t do it again. A person’s thoughts and memories are his and his alone, unless willing to share.”

“Of course.”

O’Plucker climbed up to the ring and joined Richard. Daimon watched him, smile never faltering. Perhaps it was a bit to exaggerated, Richard had thought. The man’s tan face looked a bit strained in that grin. He looked uneasy. Teresa followed suit, until finally all three of them were in the ring.

“I think it’s time for Mr. O’Plucker to have a turn,” said Daimon. He nodded to Teresa. “Miss Clark, if you will please step out of the cage?”

Teresa nodded instantly, and walked out, opening and slamming the cage door shut behind her. O’Plucker and Richard were the only ones in the ring now, both on opposite corners.

“Now, let’s see what knowledge you have retained from your experience with sorcery, Mr. O’Plucker.” He raised his thick wrist, and pressed a small button on a bronze wristwatch. “Begin the sparring session.”

“Wait, sparring session--?” But O’Plucker had no time to hear an answer, as Richard leapt towards him and landed a clear blow to his face. The movement was so swift and natural, a feline grace. O’Plucker’s back slammed into the edge of the cage, and the whole thing rattled from the force. Stars scuttered across the high school teacher’s vision, and a sharp throb all at once made darkness flicker.

“Activate your sorcery, Mr. O’Plucker.” Daimon said aloud.

Richard threw out another punch aimed for the nose of O’Plucker. Although he really couldn't see it, the teacher had swayed his head to the side, knowing the punch was coming, and avoided the blow. The fist landed against the cage walls and emitted a loud rattling. Quickly though the punch was retracted and it hit home at O’Plucker’s sternum. Now the teacher was seeing stars while falling unconscious and on the verge of vomiting. He rolled himself along the edge of the cage, getting himself out of Richard’s range fruitlessly.  The ponytailed teenager followed him, and effortlessly had him cornered again, throwing a one-two of combos and hooks. O’Plucker blocked uselessly, a man who had no fighting experience in the realms of boxing and martial arts. Save for the time he had locked himself in a vicious game of locker boxing during half time in gym class, a long time ago, when he was a useless high school student.

“Use your sorcery, O’Plucker!” Daimon shouted. “Use your power! You still have it in you!”

O’Plucker could barely breathe. His stomach was suffering a deathly throb, his right cheek felt split and bruised, and he could barely stand up straight. He didn’t want to know what he looked like in a mirror right now. Richard had hesitated, stopping his assault but staying in a fighter’s stance. He had been silent during the whole thing, and his face was straight and serious.

“I know you can do better, O’Plucker.” Was all he said. He came forward again, a relentless fury of fists thrusting out towards the teacher.

O’Plucker held out his arms, and continued to block against them all--not effectively. A sharp pain struck his sides, and a powerful impact slammed his other cheek. Things were not looking good.

Daimon looked on, frowning. Teresa was silently observing being outwardly unimpressed. Her eyes followed the movement of punches Richard was throwing, to the landing at O’Plucker’s face, body and forearms. Why was O’Plucker not fighting back? She wondered. And why was Richard being so hard on him? This was becoming a bloodbath. Drops of it sprayed the matted floor in red as two more punches hit home towards O’Plucker’s bloody face. The teacher still did not even attempt to swing back, to fight, even if it meant it would miss.

“Why isn’t he fighting?” Her eyes did not leave the two sparring. “Not even one strike was thrown from him during this whole thing.”

Sergius kept his eyes fixed to the cage as well, and spoke in a low voice to her as if his interest was completely on the sparring match.

“I don’t know. But I’ll have to end this really soon. Otherwise, he’ll get really hurt.”

Now Teresa couldn’t look. Her ally was getting brutally beaten to a pulp. She turned to Daimon, a fiery anger in her blue eyes.

“Stop it. Now.” she ordered.

But Segius didn’t respond. He ignored her, his eyes darting with the movement of Richard’s fists breaking down O’Plucker’s useless barrier of forearms.

“Give it a minute,” he said under his breath.

The pounding was merciless. O’Plucker had tried to roll out of the way, but couldn’t. He was cornered. For good this time. Richard’s stamina had ultimately impressed him, as there had been a downpour of strikes for the last three minutes. The blackness that was flickering throughout his vision was becoming absolute. The pain seemed to be going numb. Every ounce of his consciousness was fading out. And still Richard kept attacking.

He didn’t want to fight Richard. Not again. He didn’t want to bring himself to that lowpoint. After nearly killing Bobby that last time in his anger, he had made a promise to himself to never harm a student again. Never harm a kid. But as the punches twisted and wounded him so, the morality itself was breaking.

And still Sergius Daimon did not stop the match.

--- --- ---
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Offline Coldmiser8675

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Re: Honey, Stalin Took the Kids ~Saving the High School!
« Reply #48 on: April 30, 2017, 06:00:33 PM »
Some amazing artwork by tykva a.k.a Oni right here!!!  :clapping: Click them to enlarge!


Honey, Stalin Took The Kids

Chapter 8:

O’Plucker had shifted realities. Now, he was in a vast white space, seeing only a  relentless downpour of punches. They fell upon him, but he couldn’t feel their impact, in fact, he didn’t even know if they were hitting him at all. Suddenly, he saw himself just watching them come down on somebody else, from an observer’s position.
The more he thought about this, the farther away from it all he was becoming. He was watching himself fight Richard Mortimer, watching himself cower and cover his head as the mad teenager kept on an assault of malice. When O’Plucker couldn’t bear to see himself beaten up like this, he saw a man watching the fight beside him. The man was as tall as O’Plucker remembered him to be, with a brown beard and mottley dress shirt, and a small beer gut sagging over his waist.
“Mr. Whitman?” O’Plucker said, surprised.

O’Plucker’s old English teacher Mr. Whitman didn’t turn his head from the battle beyond.

“You’re getting pummeled out there. You should probably go back.”

O’Plucker looked around. There was nothing but whiteness around them. The sparring cage where the battle was taking place was far away. “How the hell do I do that?” O’Plucker asked, then,

“And why the hell are you and I here?”

Whitman belched. “Well, either you're unconscious, or it has something to do with this sorcery nonsense, bringing you here to realize your potential. I’m not sure, I’m only an English teacher.”

O’Plucker found it odd that Mr. Whitman was just standing here in a void white space with him, watching something that was actually happening from miles away. “I don’t get it. My potential? Why am I always told about this stupid potential crap. I was dragged into all this by happenstance. I’m only a high school history teacher, or, was a history teacher. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. None of it.”

“Was it?” Whitman turned his face finally. His weary, hateful expression was exactly how O’Plucker saw him when he was a senior in high school long ago. “Or perhaps, you were chosen after all.”
“I wasn’t.” O’Plucker argued. “It was only random that I met up with Richard Mortimer and Ashley Daunhauer that day, when we encountered Karl Marx. Nothing was set on purpose.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, George. Everything happens for a reason. You were not chosen for sorcery by luck. You were meant to be the salvation of this world.”

Whitman walked away, seeming more formal than O’Plucker had ever seen him to be. Back in high school, the teacher would always mock his own subject, and even hate on everything and everyone that he encountered that was somewhat better than him. But now, he was...or he walked, calmer, happier. Even though his face still said the world owed him.

It’s just some dream, O’Plucker told himself. But Whitman turned on his heel.

“Is it just a dream? If I were not mistaken, you had this similar experience with an old hippy on thanksgiving. And how did that turn out?”

That was right. On Thanksgiving, O’Plucker did have this similar experience, with an old bum that had resided in Bobby’s house, perhaps Bobby’s father. He had told O’Plucker of the sorcery within him, and in real life it had activated inside him and helped kill Joseph Stalin when he was in his Bird form. “I became some monster,” He said at last.

“No, O’Plucker,” Whitman waved his hand towards the far away battle. As he did, the cage where the two fighters were sparring got closer and closer, until O’Plucker could actually see Richard Mortimer’s face, and even his own. With another wave of his hand Whitman froze the fighters. Richard’s face was contorted, wielding back a fist ready to hit. Meanwhile the other O’Plucker in the cage with him was frozen with his arms raised, refusing to fight, as the O’Plucker watching knew. Whitman pointed to Richard. “He’s the monster.”

“What?” O’Plucker didn’t believe what he had heard. If anyone was a monster, anyone traitorous that O’Plucker, Richard, and Teresa had joined up with, it would be that Sergius Daimon guy, or his butler Chaz. “I don’t believe that. We’re out to save Teresa’s brothers from Joseph Stalin.”

“Mortimer’s sorcery is known as the Executioner,” Whitman explained. “ The Executioner has no moral judgement, and no mercy. The more the power is used, the more overwhelming it becomes on the user, and it will manipulate his mind with these heartless ideals. It is a power from the limitless darkness in the sky after all, so no mortal can bear it’s strength, especially a child.”

“Then what about me? Don’t I have the same thing? This weird power from the sky had struck me like a lightning bolt. Won’t I be the same way?”

“Your power is different. Your sorcery derives from great warriors and their ideals during the War of Gods; long ago stories pertaining to warriors fighting for control of the stars. You have one warrior’s power, along with his ideals of justice and good nature. Richard’s sorcery was created to kill all of that; To kill all the warriors of the stars. He serves under darkness.”

O’Plucker really couldn’t believe this. It sounded like some made up tale. How come he’s never heard of this before? “ Well, even if that were true, you’re saying I should kill Richard?”

“Well, if you were smart, yes. But you’re not,” There was that classic Whitman remark and his smile. “You would probably want to save the boy, although there is really no way to do that. So, I would just beat him to a pulp now, and show him you’re just as strong, so he wouldn’t be influenced by his power so easily.” He turned, opened the cage door, and gestured him in. “You are the only hope for him O’Plucker, and for the world. Now please, step in and beat this kid up.”

O’Plucker hesitated. But after a moment passed, he walked through the door, and stepped into his cowering body that was defending himself from Richard’s blows.
----- ------ --------
And the power came flowing back into him. He was awake now, and Richard was still pounding him in the corner. The unleashed potential made O’Plucker move his body so fast and so unexpected, that Richard-- as fast as he was, did not see the teacher’s punch directed at his cheek. The hard blow sent the teenager staggering backwards across the cage, and  even slamming against the chain links that made up the walls. He looked back at O’Plucker with confusion mixed with fury.
Bloody as he was, wounded and badly sore, O’Plucker fixed his stance and beckoned Richard on; His face was serious, and his eyes beamed with a newfound power. If there was anytime to kill Mortimer, this would be it, came the voice of Mr. Whitman. Do not be a fool. His inherited power is the biggest threat to mankind.
Richard charged at him, his own aura of power menacing, and leaped up to throw an aerial kick towards O’Plucker’s jaw. But the teacher saw it coming the split second before the attack hit he ducked under and weaved to the side, then stepped forward for a left hook. The punch struck Richard’s jaw.
Richard leapt away, fixing himself space against O’Plucker. His eyes were so narrowed in a glare O’Plucker’s hairs spiked.  He is a monster, came Whitman’s voice again. Richard wiped the bloody corner of his mouth with an arm. And this time when he charged forward O’Plucker only saw a blur before he was slammed back against the chain link walls. Richard struck O’Plucker’s chin with an elbow, and made the teacher breathless with a fist to the sternum.

O’Plucker, not being able to take in air, huddled his arms closer to his stomach, trying to block. Find the opening, Whitman’s voice came again. It’s there. You have your power now, you can find it. And O’Plucker did. There was a small little opening, a small split second, when Richard drew in his fist for another strike. O’Plucker’s arm soared up like a rocket, striking under Richard’s chin in a devastating uppercut. The teenager was so surprised by the powerful blow he fell backward upon impact..

Do it now! Kill him! Cried Whitman’s voice. O’Plucker’s hands glowed dimly in blue flames, and he loomed over the teenager for the strike, preventing him from getting up. He threwdown the killer punch, and it was clear now that Richard was dead.

But a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. O’Plucker looked up in surprise. Daimon. With a slight twist of the wrist, O’Plucker cried out in pain, and the flames on his hands were gone.

“That’s enough,” Sergius Daimon said.

“Oh, now you step in!” O’Plucker shouted through his agony.

“I wanted you to release your potential, and you did,” Sergius let go of his wrist.

Teresa had already entered the cage and was helping Richard up. “You’re all bloody.” She said, worryingly. She brought out a wash cloth and began gently wiping the blood from his face.

Where the hell is my wash cloth? O’Plucker thought angrily. Before he could put those thought into words, Daimon’s huge tan hand clasped his shoulder.

“Congratulations, you are ready.” And he turned to walk out of the cage.

O'Plucker saw the curves of his smile clearly when he left.

« Last Edit: April 30, 2017, 06:02:20 PM by Coldmiser8675 »
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Online OhGodHelpMe

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Re: Honey, Stalin Took the Kids ~Saving the High School!
« Reply #49 on: May 10, 2017, 05:49:13 PM »
I don't know why tykva doesn't make him/herself more known here. He does some really great work. And since I finally had the time to read more of this, I noticed the change in format. The earlier chapters were written much like scripts while the later ones take more of a proper prose approach. It definitely fills in details a lot better, I must say  :thumbsup: May you keep writing and hopefully beat my high score of 23 pages of work lol

Offline legomaestro

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Re: Honey, Stalin Took the Kids ~Saving the High School!
« Reply #50 on: May 10, 2017, 05:52:36 PM »
I feel guilty for not reading this. I'll try to check out more of it for sure...

Offline Coldmiser8675

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Re: Honey, Stalin Took the Kids ~Saving the High School!
« Reply #51 on: June 15, 2017, 09:11:51 AM »
Thanks you guys for the comments! I appreciate it greatly! And yes I agree, Tykva should really show more of his work here, it's very exceptional! Thanks OGHM!

And to starting out reading all this craziness, I would thank you lego for taking the time!  ;D

Chapter 9:

O’Plucker wasn’t ready for anything, he was sure. Right now his muscles ached, his head throbbed like a drum, and sometimes, from the corners of his eyes, he thought he could see specs or stars falling, but every time he’d look up to scrutinize, the stars would vanish. That pissed him off more than seeing Teresa tending to Richard’s wounds, while all Sergius and Chaz provided O’Plucker himself with was an ice pack for his pounding head. Some of the blood had dried up into a dark crust on his swollen lip, and he was sure that perhaps his knuckles were bruised. They hurt nonetheless.
“ Will Richard be alright?” Teresa asked Sergius. She held the ice pack over Richard’s forehead, while a warm blanket was placed over his body. She had done a great deal of care bandaging his wounds, as his wrists were wrapped in white, and his blood wiped clean from the corners of his mouth. She provided her lap as his pillow as he slept.
“I’m sure they’ll both be alright, in time.” Sergius had been gazing out the window of the blimp, inspecting the passing clouds, hands clasped behind his sturdy back. When he turned around he looked at Teresa, and his eyes glittered with amusement, especially when he looked back to O’Plucker, then he smiled.
He finds the whole thing amusing, O’Plucker thought. He can go to hell. I need just as much as care as she’s providing Richard, yet he’s just standing there looking out the window. He was thinking about calling Chaz over himself, but he was still too tired to shout.
“How are you faring, Mr. O’Plucker?” Sergius had the nerve to ask.
“Oh, well, I feel as good as new,” O’Plucker croaked. “I’d feel even better if I had a sixteen year old girl taking care of me.”
That had sounded better in his head. Teresa gave him a cold stare, while Sergius’s smile widened to the point O’Plucker thought the man would break into laughter. He was kind of hoping he would, it would break the tension of what his last statement spilled into the air.
“The power of your sorceries will give you both your strength back, and more so,” Sergius explained. “In fact, you both have improved ten fold, just from this sparring alone. The sorcery has reawoken, the floodgates collapsed, and a relentless power flows.”
“That’s great,” O’Plucker muttered. Suddenly, the voice of Mr. Whitman creeped into his head. You were meant to be the salvation for this world. The labor of the words made O’Plucker feel heavier. His heart dropped. The salvation? Him? No way, he didn’t want to go through all of that again, through all the gunfights, the spell battles, the death and slaughtering. Those things had changed Richard, he was sure of it. He was only a boy in high school, and now he was involved with conspiracies that were more than he could handle. Richard couldn’t even focus on a history exam for more than an hour, never mind deal with the evergoing violence of what the secrets he holds contains. The Executioner has no moral judgement, and no mercy. The more the power is used, the more overwhelming it becomes on the user, and it will manipulate his mind with these heartless ideals.
O’Plucker shook his head, although his neck was so stiff it hurt. If there was anytime to kill Mortimer…
   “Stop it!” O’Plucker croaked. He found Teresa and Sergius looking at him; Teresa’s face was annoyed,  as if a dog just barked. Sergius had the most curiosity.
   “Something wrong, O’Plucker?” Sergius asked.
   “Nothing.” The man wouldn’t tend to his wounds, why should he know that Mr. Whitman was talking to him? Good, a secret from him it should be. Do not trust this man. “A bit too late for that,” O’Plucker muttered. He fell asleep himself, and the world went to a peaceful black.
He dreamed he was in the high school, which was just like what he had seen in Sergius’s flames with Richard and Teresa in the mansion. The students were all captured, but something else was there too. There were many of them;. Slender beings whose limbs were too long and spidery to be human. When he saw them all in the auditorium, hanging around the beams like a horde of giant rats with their long pink tails and bulging black eyes, he screamed in horror and fled like wild. As he ran, he heard the overwhelming noise of scurrying feet on wood, the echoes of jumping and landing to the floor.  They even squeaked like rats, Screamed the fear in O’Plucker’s mind, but it didn’t seem like it was in his mind at all, as the words echoed down the hall as well. Rats...Rats...Rats. Suddenly he found himself trapped by a brick wall, whose mortar were streaks of orange flames. For a moment, the flames blazed, blinding him briefly. And then when they died down, a shape of fire hung on the wall.
Bobby Winthrop was made up of fire, his wrists chained to the wall. He flailed his head angrily, the long orange hippy hair pressed to his fire of a face. He cried and screamed, “Get them away from me!”
When O’Plucker pondered what he was talking about, he soon realized exactly what it was. The scurrying of feet, the hair curling squeaks… he turned around, and the horde of slender naked rat-men were crawling towards them both. Their jaws would drop to the floor, with crooked teeth and webs of saliva in their mouths. Their bulging black eyes reflected the orange glow of Bobby’s fire. For that moment, O’Plucker had forgotten his awakened power, had forgotten the sorcery within him to summon his arrows and fight. Or perhaps he could not summon it. He had used it all fighting Richard.
And the rat-men were upon them.
O’Plucker woke up with a gasp. He was still where they had left him, on a yoga mat outside the sparring cage. He went to sit up, and surprisingly felt his stiffness had soften. He felt his face, particularly his wrist, and felt the swelling had gone down, not to a full level of better, but was down. He still had the faded black and blue on his wrists and stomach, and some stars were still falling down, though not as many as before. You need to sleep, Whitman said. The nightmares fuel your power, and you’ll recover. It was just what O’Plucker needed, more nightmares.
He looked over at Richard Mortimer, and then, to his surprise, Teresa Clark. Despite the darkness that was now in these training quarters, as Sergius must have finally permitted sleep, O’Plucker could see that now the blanket was over the two of them. The Clark kid is in love, it all made sense to O’Plucker now, though he probably should have seen it before. Then a feeling of loneliness washed over him, and he wished for a brief moment that his ex wife was here to rest beside him, and at some points, he wished it was Mrs. Clark, with her smooth skin and golden hair. He wished he had someone to take on the nightmares with.

--- --- ---
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Offline Coldmiser8675

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Re: Honey, Stalin Took the Kids ~Saving the High School!
« Reply #52 on: July 01, 2017, 11:40:40 AM »

Chapter 10: :ohmy:


The room was hot. Like a boiler. Bobby Winthrope couldn’t move his arms to wipe the beads of sweat from his brow. He was chained to the wall, like an old fashioned prisoner from the times of knights and kings, and he hung there with his head cast. His long hair wasn’t helping his stay to be any more of a comfort. Sometimes his blonde locks would blanket his face, capturing more heat and even suffocating him as it matted to his face. He had to blow as much air as his tired lungs would permit to blow it away from him, and that proved fruitless. When he cast his head down really low however, his widow’s peak spared him a bit from the torment and he could breath as his hair hovered over him.
He couldn’t recall how long he’d been in here, but the pain in his ribs and torso made it apparent that it has been quite a while. His body felt like he was in a stretcher, and if he were somehow to be released he would probably be taller. The shackles clamped around his wrists were chaffing him, though when the pain in his torso and ribs flared, the pain of his wrists had been  tuned out to a dim throb.
What would Rich do? Bobby had always asked himself that. Richard would probably shout from the top of his lungs that he would kill all his captors, or some other brave statement that will have him dying a warrior. He would probably start swinging his body violently in his chains as if his strength would shake him free. His eyes would go ablaze in terrifying power, seeking death towards whoever laid upon them. The kid had turned insane since they left the Bermuda Triangle, Bobby recalled. Everything on his mind was only about killing Joseph Stalin, and saving the Clark kids. And he was super uptight with killing, too. A lot of killing.
He turned crazy when she appeared as well, thought Bobby. Teresa Clark was found in a Time Bending chamber owned by the Russian Sorcery Administration, and ever since that day she joined Richard as his fighting partner. Well, Bobby hoped they were only fighting partners. She always gave these longing glances at him, I’ve noticed. Bobby’s thoughts became clearer and distinct for the time that he’d been alone here, it was like another voice was talking to him.
Wow, I’m actually thinking of things, for the first time ever, these thoughts sounded as if they echoed off the walls, but no, it was only him in his mind. Him. That’s it. Nobody else. I’m going to die a loon, that thought had him scared at first, but now that he had been hanging here, he was too fatigued to really care. Occasionally, he would hear loud shuffles of feet, scraping noises like finger and toenails scratching off the wet cobblestone of the dungeon. Whether the sounds were real or just his head playing him, they never showed themselves in the perimeter of the torch lights. There were only two torches on the walls before him, red flowers that shivered more violently as they grew smaller and smaller, closer to being extinguished.
Bobby feared that more than the shuffling. If he were to be left alone in the dark, with only his crazy mind talking to him, he’d beg to die.
Suddenly, there were the sound again, the shuffling of barefeet, only this time another sound dominated; shoes clamping the ground in a walk. They grew louder, and louder. Bobby’s pulse rose, his heart fluttering for the first time since he was captured. He didn’t think there was still any fear left in him. Well, at least you’re not that close to dying then, the voice in his head told him.
“Shut up,” Bobby muttered, his voice not even above a whisper.
The footsteps grew so loud that unbelievably they grew shape in the light of the torches. The man wore a white suit, his hair a glowing brown from the orange flickering of the torches and falling to the back of his neck. His features were just like any man of wealth would be, and any action hero who wore his clothing would have. Strong, chiseled cheekbones, a perfect jawline, and eyes a glowing almond. The thin smile stretched his trimmed circle beard as he broke into a grin.
“Hello, Bobby,” he said, his voice friendly. “How’s it hanging?”
I think he just made a pun, said the voice in Bobby’s head. Bobby shook the voice away. His real voice needed to come out. “ Faaaa,” his voice croaked in high pitch. He tried again. “Faaak…”
“F*ck me?” The man finished for him. He shook his head. “Sorry, Bobby, I don’t roll that way.” he turned to a shadowed figure who was slouched a bit behind him. “Discipline him for that attempted rudeness.”
Suddenly Bobby saw the  figure lurch forward so quick and all he saw was a blur slam his face in. The pain set him back; his vision swimming, hot pain scorching his eyes. Bright stars fell and rose again, and all the while Bobby tasted what could be blood in his mouth. When somewhat of his vision reoriented itself momentarily, Bobby saw the man in the white suit smiling. The figure who struck him slouching right beside him.
“Will this be a problem?” Asked the man in the white suit. “Will Jimmy have to beat you until  you can talk more clear and polite?”
Bobby hacked and coughed. Phlegm and blood dripped from his cracked lips. His breathing labored from catching the blow, Bobby felt so light headed he thought he was going to pass out. But yet, somehow, he caught on to consciousness, as if not doing so could mean his life. He tried to speak, tried really damn hard.
“What do you want?” Bobby managed to whisper.
The man gave him an amused look. “Well, for starters, I want to know where you sent those girls of yours in the sewers. My henchmen could not find them anywhere, and they’ve been down there for a good day or so.” He face twitched in an irritated look, until with a slight sigh he regained his composure. “Tell me where they are.”
Bobby tried to smile, but he was too exhausted and too wounded to even move his eyes. They got out, they must of. Ashley, Savarah, they’re safe.
“I would savor that look for as long as possible, Bobby. It won’t be plastered on your face for long.” The man in the white suit’s voice was cold, but his face reflected calmness. “We’ll find them, soon enough. And when we do, we will kill them. Unless, of course, you tell me where they are. Then you won’t be lonely down here.”
Bobby coughed some more, and again out came more blood and phlegm. The man only watched this curiously, hands clasped behind his back. His slouched henchman was as still as a statue.
“You lie,” Said Bobby, thanks to the coughing, his voice was becoming clear again. He’ll kill Ashley and Savarah no doubt. He’ll probably kill me, too.
The man shrugged. “ I wouldn’t think so. If you give them away, and we caught them, you could convince those two to join our cause. They’ll no doubt agree; That brown haired girl is as fearful as a deer in the headlights, and that Reinhart is so...infatuated, it would seem, of you, especially now, since you sacrificed yourself so bravely.”
The thought of Savarah being mentioned by this man made him red with anger. “You’ll never find her--”
“That’s where you're wrong, Bobby,” the man said. His eyes glanced around the dungeon. “Do you know where you are? Do you know what I’ve done? Do you know how many soldiers are with me, and the henchmen I have at my disposal? I am a good friend to the Russian Sorcery Administration Bobby. They’ve given me many toys to play with, many spells to make me unstoppable.” he stepped forward. His face was merely inches away from Bobby. His face was well groomed, well fit, and those brown eyes flared wickedly in a glowing fire. “I have sources everywhere, monsters lurking in every corner, chasing off your friends until they’ll grow too hysterical and give themselves up. Your Richard and the Clark girl, and that high school teacher, they’re coming. We know it. And we’re prepared to kill them before they leave their blimp.”
They’re in a blimp? Rich was coming to him? Could it be true? Rich is going to save me. A tear swelled up in the corner of one eye, then began a short stream down his cheek.
The man frowned. “I would be smart and tell where those girls are, Bobby,” he said. “You don’t have much time.”
Rich will come. Rich will save all of them. Bobby’s heart fluttered more.
“Tell me, Bobby,” The man’s voice grew sharper.
Through the cracked lips, Bobby managed to smile. His heart was fluttering even more now, and he felt a pulse of energy flow through him from his heart. The sorcery, he thought. The sorcery that he thought was long gone away from him, has returned, and all because of his love for his friends. He stared right at the man in white. “Rich is going to kick your ass,” he said. The power is flowing through him. He feels it nourishing his tired muscles, all his wounds...if he could just keep the man distracted for a little bit..I’ll unleash my storm of twisters again..
The man moved in on him, he only saw that part, but he did hear his bones crunch in his chest, and after he felt the world go light, he looked down at the man’s fist penetrate his chest, blood spilling and staining the wrist of his white suit.
“You disappointed me Bobby,” The man said gravely. “That was the dumbest thing you could try to pull.” His wrist twisted, and in one, horrifying movement he yanked out Bobby’s heart. The muscle was pulsing, and the yellow sparks of his growing sorcery was flickering around it as the man held it all in his grasp. “By the honor of the all powerful Maria Mortimer, I commence Sorcerer Bobby Winthrope to death. His heart and sorcery will go to the all-knowing Maria.” he squeezed, and the heart popped, the yellow sparks flying, and then eventually they shimmered and fading into nothing.
Bobby gasped for the air that would not come, and then finally with bulging eyes he entered his permanent sleep.
--- --- ---
“Poor thing,” The man  in white sighed. With a snap of his fingers, a spark shot from his hand, and the body of Bobby Winthrope was set aflame. He turned to his henchman. “He is yours for supper, if you can eat him before he burns to ash.” He turned away and began walking from where he had come. The flames of the carcass grew so bright that he could see his rat men crawling past him from all angles on the walls and ceilings, noses twitching and sniffing the burning meat. The man in white impassively continued forward, up the stairs, where the rest of his plans are yet to be accomplished.
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