Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies.
This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.
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There is fear, further down the scale lies terror. These men were terrified. Maximus could tell, even if he ignored the tremble in their limbs their loud shaky breaths announced it to the world.
"Compose yourselves idiotas!" He roared. You'd think a group of twelve fully armed men would muster courage in the darkness of their hideout, but no.
Fucking cowards. He spat. He'd fought hard to recruit these men, they were criminal soldados, hitmen and killers for the cartel. Men who skinned and dismembered people alive, yet here they were, their flashlights pointing at the darkness as they searched for a target.
"Fucking puta come out and fight!" He shouted.
Thwhip!
"AHH--!" Whoosh! Twelve standing men became eleven.
Bratatatatatataatat! Bratatatatatat! Bratatatatatat!
Bullets flew, painting the walls in slugs that shot at where they heard the scream disappear to.
Thwip!
"AIEE--!" Eleven turned to ten. Maximus heard the tell tale sounds of bones breaking, silencing the scream. He knew that sound for he had caused it on others, never this loud of course, no this was thunder. It was vicious.
Bratatatatatataatat! Bratatatatatat! Bratatatatatat!
"You fucker! Face me like a man!"
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
"UHK--!" "ARGH--!" "AIEE--!" "HAA--!" the screams were again quickly silenced.
Bratatatatatataatat! Bratatatatatat! Bratat—click click!
The AK-47s were emptied, the mags were hollow now, spent casings littered the floor. The remaining six huddled together, waiting.
Maximus believed the attacker would show themselves now that they were out of bullets.
The figure was lit by a stray torch. It zoomed towards them and Maximus felt his chest tighten. The figure that was meters away was suddenly inches away.
It did not even strike them, he just felt it rush past and felt a touch on his shoulder. His skin itched where he felt the touch, it was as though goosebumps were gathered just on that spot.
Yellow electricity lit the room up, Maximus was on the ground, curled in agony from the electricity dancing about his organs. His men fared much worse than he did, they were foaming at the mouth and twitching.
He then watched the black blur approach his men, breaking their limbs beneath his boot. It was unrushed, it was systematic. Those were breaks that would never heal cleanly, they would leave one with life-long debilitating injuries effectively rendering them cripple.
That man approached him, he wasn't tall, he did not look imposing or big. He seemed like a low profile athlete, someone Maximus would never be scared or careful of, yet here his heart beat wildly, a loudspeaker in his chest.
He was Maximus Gargan, the cartel called him the Scorpion for his preferred weapon, a hooked blade at the end of a chain wrapped around his waist, one he'd been using for almost a decade now. He'd learned to kill with the weapon when he was but a teenager, it was an accidental discovery, being bored and involved in gang activities while in school, he was chastised by a teacher.
He didn't like that very much, he was to be respected, a man like him could not tolerate any form of disrespect or insults especially to his name or honor. He followed the woman home and then to her spouse's business, a humble, almost rundown butcher's shop. Where the woman, her daughter and husband worked together after she was done with teaching for the day.
He raided the place with his boys, guns drawn and pointed at the stupid bitch. He sliced her husband's throat with his still wet blade. Her and her daughter's screams made him feel powerful, the look in their eyes wasn't enough, it wasn't terrified enough yet. He saw the swaying hooks that held bled pigs and his mind conjured a sinister and vicious image.
He grabbed the daughter, a terrified girl his age, begging for her life. He laughed and stabbed her in the stomach with the hook, burying the item deep within her, he pulled the chain, hung the girl by her intestines all while she howled in agony.
He proceeded to have his way with his teacher, making sure to thoroughly enjoy himself as she cried for her dying daughter.
He left her alive to serve as an example of what would happen to those who disrespect him. Today he would make another example.
He was fucking scorpion a ruthless criminal listed on the FBI's most wanted list, a heinous man who was responsible for heinous crimes, a son of satan. Once he was done here he would have words with his employer who had made it known they would be undisturbed, even promising that the cops were in his pocket, that he owned the city.
Through his pain he held his weapon and waited.
"Ha!" Gargan threw his blade once the attacker was within range. Had he been of sound mind, he might have been aware that the earlier attack that had him on the floor was electric in nature, that metal was a superb conductor as well.
His attacker tilted his head and grabbed the blade before it sailed past his face.
"Your sins cry out." The attacker spoke in a cold whisper that sounded like a gravelly rasp.
Gargan felt the chain tighten, air fled his midsection, the ground flew from under his feet. He found himself in the attacker's grasp.
"Suffer." The hook ate into his lower jaw and tore down brutally, going through his neck, ribs, stomach, pelvis and last his groin.
His intestines fell from his open torso, tears pooled in his rolling eyes as an all consuming agony ate through his soul. He felt electricity flood his system, burning his nerves and keeping him alive, prolonging his agony.
Thud. The once feared criminal fell unceremoniously, split twain and smoking as burnt flesh rose from his corpse.
The attacker, Miles, wished he could torture souls as well but this was the most he could do for now. He searched the vicinity, keeping whatever devices contained information on dealings and employers. He tore open the safes and emptied their contents into his backpack, keeping the money, drugs and weapons he could.
He approached a closed door and twisted the lock. The people huddled together, wondering if the one in black was a savior or something worse. They ranged from parents, to young adults to children, none were older than thirty.
They were each sold for different purposes, some for prostitution, some for their organs, the healthiest of them would be used for human experimentation by a man he was already after.
"Go to this man, he will help you." He handed them money, and a flier that held directions to a law firm in Hell's Kitchen. Thinking it over he decided to lead them himself. They would get lost or robbed, some would be too fearful to even head to the destination. "Follow me." He said, his voice sure and strong.
In the alleys of New York, a young man covered in black led a group of weary travelers. They whispered amongst themselves about the savior, about the dark angel who brought down the wrath of God upon the wicked, the image of the mutilated body remained fresh in their minds, a deserving end for a wicked one.
This dark angel that led them—the lost, the scared, the weak, the meek, through these unfamiliar paths, beating down on predators that crawled from the dark corners, keeping them safe under the cover of night till they reached the destination.
"Go knock, he's in there." Was the last thing they heard from him as he vanished into the shadows.
Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!
"I'm coming, I'm coming—oh, wow." Matt Murdoch adjusted his glasses, sensing just how many people stood at the entrance of his establishment. They handed him whatever money they'd been given and told him of this dark angel, their savior.
He could feel it in the air, it was the taste of electricity and vibrance, New York was about to witness something unfamiliar soon enough.
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Ariganno espa vida! That Spaneesh for I hope you enjoy it!
Till next time, Rain (the best ever) away!
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