Male of my Flesh

It's October, my favorite month of the year. I needed a little break from writing, "Fallen Snow," in order to clear my head and get myself motivated to write again. To that end, I've written a little something different that I hope you all enjoy.

This entry jumps genres a bit. If that statement worries you, jump to the end and I'll have a small note to give you an idea of what you're getting yourself into. The note at the end is however a spoiler.

I love feedback and constructive criticism. So rate it and let me know what you think. Enjoy!

****

His lungs burned as he ran through the darkness. His feet pounded the pavement, one after another, heavy and exhausted from his flight. The sound of his footsteps echoed across the abandoned street and boarded up storefronts. It made the street seem eerie. A city block was supposed to be a lively place. A bubbling crescendo of noise. Car noise, laughter, kids playing their music too loud, all of the sounds of life. The street he was on was dead silent. It wasn't an encouraging sound.

His throat felt dry as his chest rose and fell in an increasing frantic manner. Sweat beaded on his arms, mixing with the ample blood from his various wounds. The cool autumn air would have felt pleasant on his skin if his head wasn't swimming with dizziness from the beating he'd taken. He continued to run, every step was a fresh agony on his tight, blood filled muscles.

He turned down a dark alley between two brick buildings. He narrowly avoided running head first into a dumpster while taking a tight turn into the alley. His foot hit a glass bottle. It went skittering across the asphalt in front of him.

Alex had fucked up; he'd fucked up bad. He'd barrowed money from the wrong people and they wanted payment. God he was an idiot. One cute girl shows up in his life with a sad story and a killer set of tits, and he decides to end his 19-year streak of staying out of trouble. When she told him of her run in with these people he should have ended it right there. Thanks, but no thanks. Instead he got himself involved and when she split town, he found himself saddled with her debt.

How do I get myself into these things?

He didn't need to look behind him to know they were close. He didn't even need to hear the sound of their footsteps behind him. The sound of his own heartbeat rang like an alarm bell in his head, reminding him of the danger he was in. Not much time now, he thought. He could feel the beginnings of a cramp in his left calf. This chase would end soon.

He turned the corner out of the alley. His eyes shot wildly in every direction, taking in his surroundings. He was looking for options and he wasn't seeing much. The few street lights that remained functional painted a grim picture. Small decrepit homes sat opposite crumbling brick storefronts. The pothole marred street was littered with trash. Everywhere he looked he was greeted with boarded up doorways and windows covered in security bars. This must have been a pleasant industrial area, once upon a time. Now it was an urban corner of hell.

This place had been defaced and forgotten by the world a long time ago. It never even occurred to him to knock on the door of one of the few occupied buildings he saw in his path. This was a part of town where hope went to die. Where you kept your doors locked and your ears shut after dark. He wouldn't be getting any help and he knew it.

He ducked into the first abandoned house he came across that wasn't boarded up with plywood. He understood why it wasn't boarded up the moment he crossed the threshold. Every window in the house was broken. The walls were covered in peeling, puke green wallpaper. Portions of it were peppered with the darker, fuzzy splotches of black mold. Decay seemed to ooze off the walls onto a hardwood floor that hadn't seen a drop of lacquer in a long time. His feet crunched on god knew what as he walked on the creaky wood flooring away from the door. The whole place was a cesspool of neglect and rot. The kind of place you wanted a tetanus shot just walking into.

Perfect.

He found a creaky, narrow staircase that descended into the basement. He tentatively placed his foot on the first step, carefully shifting his weight onto the wooden deathtrap. It held. He took the time to take a small sigh of relief before carefully taking his next step. The whole way down he thought he was going to fall through one of the rafters, breaking his leg or worse in the process. He breathed a much larger sigh of relief when his feet finally felt solid ground once more.

Alex surveyed the room around him. Various boxes and assorted garbage had been haphazardly piled against the walls of the room. Portions of the roof and first floor had caved in under half a century of winters. Rays of silver moonlight shown through the gaps, illumination patches of the stained concrete floor.

Not much time now. He needed to hurry. He dashed towards the largest section of shadow in the dimly lit basement. Ducking behind some old boxes, he knelt down to wait.

He tried to hold his breath, to be as quiet as possible. Every breath sounded like a jet engine. Every shift of his weight, on his tired legs, sounded like a gunshot. He could only hope that the men chasing him would pass by the dark house and continue down the street.

He'd started to believe that he had done it, that he had successfully hid from them, when he heard it. The sound of boots on the rotting wood of the first floor sounded like cannon fire to his ears. Shit, he thought. The doorway to the basement was right in the open. There was no way they wouldn't check it.

No choice now, he thought with growing dread. They were going to find him any minute and he knew there was only one person who could help him now.

Her.

He needed to act fast. He swallowed his growing fear and quietly walked over to a bare section of concrete in the center of the room. Kneeling down, he began to drag his wounded hand over the rough, cold floor. In no time he had drawn a rude circle in his own blood. He tore off a piece of his shirt and let it soak thoroughly with his own blood. He knelt down and focused on the more detailed aspects of the summoning circle.

The design was a familiar one. It had been etched into his mind for as long as he could remember. His mother had always told him to be warry of bindings. It was one of the first things he remembered her teaching him. That the demons of the Pit took bargains made of free will deadly serious. The irony of what he was about to do wasn't lost on him.

He'd just completed the summoning circle when he heard them. They must have heard him moving around downstairs. Fuck, he thought.

In his haste, he'd accidently smudged one of the symbols with his knee while crawling out of the circle. A streak of blood now connected two of the symbols, a potentially fatal flaw in the design. He forced himself to a take a breath and forget about the mistake. This wasn't a normal summoning. If he was being completely honest with himself, he knew that it was his blood that would form the real connection.

Alex uttered no spells, no incantations. There were no blood sacrifices or rituals. None of that was necessary. The work was done, now all he had to do was wait. Heavy footsteps pounded down the creaky staircase. He took a deep, calming breath and turned to face the new arrivals.

Two walls of muscle stepped out onto the dirty concrete floor. Goon #1 and Goon #2 looked like they could have been football stars. In fact, given the proximity to the university in town that's probably what they were. A couple of washed out football players, now quite good enough to make it to the pros. Alex doubted that they had developed a gentle temperament from their lot in life. They looked big, mean and dangerous. They also weren't important. Alex turned to the man who stepped in-between them.

The short, balding man was dark of hair. He was dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. The jacket was expensive and would have put off an aura of class if warn by anyone else. Between his gold tooth and greasy skin, Alex felt nothing but nausea and contempt towards the hobbit of a man in front of him.

"H-Hey Butch."

"Alex, Alex, Alex. Now why d'ya have to run? I thought we were friends." The man opened his hands wide, in an inviting manner as he spoke. A fake, overly friendly smile was plastered on his face. His gold tooth sparkled in the moonlight.

"W-We are Butch."

"Then why d'ya run?" Butch said.

"You said that you'd break both of my legs." His voice shook.

"Well sure," he said in a mock cheerful voice, "but see, that's business. I told you if you didn't get me my money, I would break both of your legs. That doesn't mean we aren't friends."

Alex stared at the man dumfounded. He couldn't quite believe that he was having this conversation. Butch put his hands on the side of Alex's arms in a friendly manner. A slick greasy smile was plastered on his face.

"You're not calling me a liar, now are you?" There was a hint of something darker beneath his overly friendly demeanor.

"No," he said looking away from the man's stare, "of course not."

Alex should have saw the punch coming, not that fair warning would have done him any good. Before he knew what hit him, he was doubled over on his knees, his hands over his gut.

"Then why d'ya run?" He'd dropped the cheerful act, now he just sounded pissed. "I don't like running Alex. Gym was never my favorite subject in school. When someone makes me run, it makes me angry."

Alex's lip split open in a gush of blood as Butch's knee connected with his mouth. He lay on the ground now, spitting up blood and worse.

It was then that he felt it. Alex knew when the summoning circle connected. Even doubled over in pain he couldn't have missed it. There was no great flash of light. No dramatics of any kind. One moment he knew; knew it in his bones that the room was empty...and the next moment it wasn't. A shiver ran down his spine as the hair on his arms stood on end. He felt the itchy, overwhelming feeling of eyes watching him out of the darkness. He looked up to find a dark shape standing in the shadows at the edge of the room.

"Hello, child." Said a feminine voice out of the darkness.

"Hello Fatalia." He whispered like a small child. It was strangely fitting considering that he was staring but at the figure, like a child would stare up at an adult.

"Hey, who the fuck are you?" Butch turned to holler at the woman standing in the shadows.

She ignored him.

"You summoned me at last. I knew you would," she said. Alex heard her smile more than he saw it.

"Ya well, you know..." Alex's words trailed off into a pained grimace.

"You're hurt." She said, her tone hardening.

Butch looked between them. He was off balance by the new arrival and the confusion was evident on his face. "What? You looking for a piece of him too? I'm afraid you'll have to get in line sweet tits. He's all mine tonight."

Fatalia shifted her attention to him at last.

"That boy is mine." She said. The room seemed to drop a few degrees. She radiated an icy demeanor that promised violence.

Butch was oblivious to it all, "Ah, but see, tonight, his legs are mine."

"Is that so?" Her words sounded more like a challenge than a question.

The world around them seemed to respond to her words. The shadows grew darker by the second. The sounds of the night dropped off into an eerie, unnatural silence. The two goons looked unnerved. They glanced into the dark corners of the room, straining their eyes to catch a glimpse of something in the abyss. Or maybe they'd started to hear the whispers calling out for them from the night.

"Unless you plan on doing something about it, bitch." Butch was oblivious to what was going on around him. His cocky smile, glittering with his gold tooth, was evidence enough of that.

Alex looked up from the ground. He cast a pleading look at the figure in the shadows. Fresh blood dripped from his split open lip. He wasn't quite sure what he was pleading for exactly. She was as much of a danger to him as Butch was.

Fatalia caught his eye, her expression impossible to read, "You know the rules. You know that I can't act freely in mortal affairs."

"Yes, I know." Alex said in a small voice.

"Oi, stop fucking ignoring me." Butch tried to cut in.

She looked interested now. "You know what it will cost you?"

"Yes."

She looked very interested now, "Then say the words."

He wanted help, but it wasn't help that was being offered, but a choice. One that he had been offered many times before. He never wanted to be in this situation, never wanted to have to make this decision. He'd been dreading it for a long time. No options now, he thought.

"I accept your terms." He said at last.

Fatalia let out a deep, heavy sigh of disbelief. A victorious, almost greedy smiled curled on her lips. A predator that had just been handed her favorite snack.

Butch had long since degraded into profanity laden gibberish. Even that died off when the woman in front of him stepped out of the shadows. Her clothing was fit for a bondage dungeon. Black leather micro skirt, black lace corset, with black fuck me boots to match. Her black lipstick matched her dark clothing and stood in stark contrast to her white, milky complexion.

Alex doubted that they were looking at her clothes. If they were smart, then they'd caught on to the fact that her well-manicured nails had shifted into claws. Or that her eyes were as black as a bottomless pit. Leathery wings were folded behind her back. A pointed tail swayed through the air behind her, catching the moonlight as she stepped forward. The sound of childish whispers had picked up in intensity and volume, to the point where even Butch had noticed them.

"W-What are you?" He asked. There was no profanity now, no confidence, only the small terrified voice of a man confronted with his childhood terrors.

Fatalia's clawed hand shot out. Butch's jaw broke with a sickening snap as her hand entered his mouth. Alex could see where her bloody claws extended out of back of Butch's throat. He watched in horrified fascination as her fingers closed into a fist around the bundle of flesh at the back of this throat. Nerves tore and bones shattered as she pulled the man's spine through his mouth. A horrifying mixture of blood, saliva and spinal fluid spilled onto the floor at her feet. She pulled his blood appendage back towards her, like a whip being pulled back to its owner. It hung loosely at her side, dripping onto the floor, as what remained of the man slumped to the ground. He gave off his last wheezing breath, little more than a fleshy sack at that point.

A shocked silence filled the room as Alex and the two remaining goons stared at the blood soaked goddess in front of them. The silence was shattered as bubbling, childlike cries of terror filled the room.

The two goons had finally realized the danger they were in and attempted to run for the stairs. The concrete turned to quicksand beneath their feet. They moved a couple of more feet as their boots sunk into the sticky bog. Grey hands, the color of the concrete, shot out of the floor. They grabbed a hold of the men, dragging them down into the Pit. Their screams were drowned out by hysterical childish laughter. As the men's fingertips passed below the surface of the floor, the concrete was once again whole and solid. The whispers stopped.

Fatalia turned back towards Alex as she waved her hand over the circle.

The blood forming the ritual circle turned to liquid fire as the portal to the Pit opened below him. A rush of hot, arid air blasted up from the floor. It ruffled his hair and filled the room with the smell of brimstone. Embers floated through the portal, causing flickers of light to dance across his skin. Alex looked down. It was like he was standing on one of those glass walkways. The ground seemed perfectly sound, yet he could look down through the circle and see the glow of flames far below him.

Fatalia stepped into the circle. "You're all mine now." She said.

He was suddenly weightless as the solid ground beneath him vanish. For one agonizing heartbeat it seemed that he might float there, defiant of gravity. Then he began to fall, towards flames and uncertainly.

Darkness took him as he passed out.

****

He awoke in warmth.

His whole body was surrounded by a blissful penetrating warmth, like being curled up in warm bed on a cold winters morning. His thoughts were cloudy. Either unwilling or unable to focus on anything. Like when you first wake up, but haven't quite made the decision to come to full consciousness yet. That murky semi-awareness, that isn't quiet sleep but isn't quiet being awake either. He could have sworn he could hear the slow rhythmic sound of a heart beating. The feeling seemed right somehow, like he was returning to some familiar place. Someplace buried deep in his memories, cut off from time and space.

Memories. The euphoric fog lifted as images of a filthy basement and a blood soaked floor came flooding back to the forefront of his mind. His pleasant thoughts vanished back to the deep confines of his mind as he began to gain awareness of his surroundings. Things that were clear to him until that moment slipped through his fingers, like wisps of smoke in the wind.

He was awake now.

He opened his eyes and immediately recognized the familiar pressure of liquid against his eye balls, only different, thicker. He felt resistance as he tried to move his limbs. He was suspended in a thick syrupy liquid. Like warm honey.

He moved in the direction he thought was up. His sluggish movement made the task difficult. He hit a barrier that prevented him from moving any further upward. Reaching up, he felt it. His fingers hit resistance in the form of a flexible elastic membrane. It would have reminded him of plastic, if didn't feel like clammy human skin. Alex dug his fingers into the fleshy wall. As his fingers began to tear through the material, he tried to ignore the faint sound of screams.

Finally, he managed to claw his way through and his head broke the surface of the fluid. He was in the center of a small pond of golden liquid in the middle of a vast cave.

It was only the rhythmic dripping of water and the earthy aroma of damp stone that told him that he was underground. The place had a lot more in common with a castle than a cave. Smooth stone walls hinted that his place had been in use for a long time. The room was tall, so tall that Alex could barely make out the pointed forms of stalactites hanging from the ceiling.

He pulled himself out of the pool. He didn't shiver as the thick liquid dripped off his body. Despite being as naked as the day he was born, Alex felt no discomfort. The air was hot. It created a pleasant warmth on his skin. He walked away from the pool and followed a well-worn path in the direction he thought would lead him out. The path led out of the cavernous room and into a well-lit tunnel. His way was illuminated by torches jutting out of the wall at regular intervals. Alex tried not to dwell on the all too familiar shape of human skulls that formed the torches.

He had just passed a point where the path branched off into a side cavern, when he heard it. The tell-tale sound of another human being screaming in fear and pain. One of butch's lackeys came scrambling out of the darkness on his hands and knees.

Alex recognized the imposing stature of goon #1. Only he didn't look very imposing at the moment, more like a scared child. He was naked and his face was a sheet of blood as he came crawling towards Alex. He grabbed onto Alex's legs like a drowning man might grab onto a life vest.

"Help me please!"

Alex only stared back dispassionately as small black creatures, with gaping maws filled with sharp teeth, came scampering out of the darkness. They grabbed the downed man, their craws digging into his flesh as they dragged him away.