Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-25924729-20151107020221/@comment-26571677-20160326092813

He coughed and spluttered, gasping, and drawing icy-cold air deep into his lungs, cleansing them with the intake of freezing-cold, Atlas air. He pushed himself up by the arms, and immediatly regretted it, as the pieces of shrapnel that'd imbedded themselves into him grated along his flesh, painfully.

The thin sheet of ice was holding them in place, stopping them from causing more damage, but it didnt stop the blistering pain that pulsed through him. Regardless, there was still more work to be done, and he slowly, slowly stood up, before slouching a little, to minimise, however little, that pain that sent itself through his nerves, and into his brain.

Grabbing Arkhalis, with a small "Thank you" to Zhu-Li, who stood behind him, looking rather worried about his wounds, he walked towards the now, burnt down, door.

He wasn't sure what hit him first. The sight, or the smell.

The air was so sickeningly thick with it, it almost seemed like a haze of complete wrong. It smelt like his father’s old change jar that he kept in the window of his study. The whole room had the scent of coppery, musty, iron metal. It made him sick, Asper was no stranger to the sight, or lingering taste of blood in his lungs, but in such quantities...

He bent over, with no sudden warning, and what had remained of his breakfast came back up. It took several moments before he could feel like facing the sight before him again.

It was carnage. Like a whirlwind of deadly, slashing blades and a tornado of bullets had swept through the place. Corpses were strewn everywhere, over broken furniture, smashed doors, and completely unrecognisable items. Most were dismembered, missing an arm, leg, both, or all of them, all of those said limbs were found, some in pieces, charred and burning, some in tatters, bleeding and mutilated, and some that looked like they were completely torn off by a bullet, ragged cloth covering the exposed and crushed bone, mixed with oozing flesh underneath.

Some of the bodies were completely torn apart, lower, and upper torsos blown away by explosions and bullets, heads blown apart into little pink coloured pieces with ballistics, face caved in and rendered unrecognisable by chainsaw blades, parts of the bodies completely missing from their rightful places, chunks just...gone, nowhere to be seen, obliterated, into the messy, red artwork that painted the walls and sculpted them.

The colour of red...it was everywhere. No surface was untainted, the carpet was soaked through, so that it squished underfoot with a revolting squelching sound. The walls might as well have had red paint, it wouldnt have made a difference, besides the fact that drops of crimson liquid dribbled down in drops, and that random pieces of meat dropped periodically as their bondings could no longer support the strain it took to hold them up to the vertical walls.

Asper walked in slowly, taking it all in with disgust, and somewhere inside, a sense of wonder. It was horrifying, and everything about it was a fundamental aversion to humankind, but it was exactly that which enthralled him. It was amazing that a pair of humans, people with a set of emotions, could even bear to do this. So much carnage, yet so little thhought for the people that had died. Each of the probably had a family, a wife, a mother, a sister, someone to care for, or be cared for. And now, their precous loved ones would be being shipped back in black, disposable body-bags.

And then he heard a voice.

No, it was more of a gargle, a miserable imitation of words and sounds that one should've been able to make. In a moment, Amilanthior saw why.

One hand was holding out a Scroll, the other was covering his belly, as he struggled to stop the insides of his body-system from falling out, his stomach, intestines, and other parts. It was a disgusting sight, a pitiful sight, that shook Asper down to the bone. It was the least he could do, to aim Arkhalis at his head, and deliver a quick euthanisation, in which the head still blew apart, like a watermelon, splattering the area around it with red, and pieces of pink brain. Some of it got onto his shirt, and blood sprayed itself lightly on his ochre-coloured pants, tinging it red.

He opened the small letter, and started reading,

Dearest Papa,

''How is mother going? I hope her body is still well and strong, as she always was. My new job, it pays well, and isn't very dangerous. But I don' t like it, I haven't been allowed to the lower levels, but I know that some very illegal things happen upstairs. I'll refrain from mentioning them in this letter, as it could very well make you even more afraid for me. Soon, I'll get my paycheck, and we'll be able to pay for Maria's operation. I'm willing to give the bone marrow, but the money is what we need to worry about. I've got it covered, so don't you worry about that.''

''I've no more time to write this week, papa, but I'll try and send another letter as soon as possible. Give little Maria my love,''

With my heart, Dmitri.

Asper folded the piece of paper, and faced his head down and away, refusing to look at the headless body.

He walked over to Zhu-Li with a solemn, 'Let's Go', practically dragging her out of that place, and back into the pristine white snow, which seemed so untainted by the horros inside, that it was almost criminal. He faced her wide, red eyes and asked her one more question before going back into the Earthly representation of Hell.

"Are we really the good guys? Or are we merely wolves dressed in sheep's clothing?"