Cult & Mantis
Proclaimer: Here's the first couple of chapters of a story that I'm writing. For two weeks now I've been writing and probably gotten about 40 pages worth. I might upload more of it depending on what people here thinks of it. Unfortunatly, there's no sex in the beginning, but I have one scene that gets really graphic and nasty way later on.
I hope you guys won't mind that this isn't about furries but rather about demons, werewolves, shapeshifters, vampires, all kinds of super natural beings.
Also I'm swedish and I wrote most of it late at night so excuse any horrible errors that I might have made. I'm not going to double and triple check this, I just write for fun. Hope that someone out there will enjoy. Warning: It's dark and cruel. It's not about good guys or bad guys, there's just predators and prey. I'm the kind of guy that usually cheers for the bad guy in movies, so I'm not favoring any wimps this story.
-=Mantis's mouth.
Cackling laughter ripped the night open, bringing a chill up the spine of every human
unfortunate enough to be up and about that late. Then the sound of frightful footsteps
hurrying away from source of the threatening sound can be heard. For a second, I ponder the
pointless life of those frightened human cattle. 17th century Scaredy superstitious
villagers and modern 21st century city people, what's the differnce? The world changes but
man always remains the same. Stupid, prejudiced and so afraid of the dark.
Just thinking about what it'd be like to be in the shoes of typical human gives me the
goosebumps. I stand up from my crowlike stance and jog towards the nightly screams that
slowly die into the night. Let's see what my friend has got us for dinner. I wouldn't say
that he was standing in triumph over his kill, it's just kind of gloating. Knowing that we
are better in every sense of the word than our prey. Faster, stronger, more savage. Where
is the wrong in living out survival of the fittest? It's not like we're going to runt out
of people to hunt. Some kindred concern themselves with the wellbeing of humans, as if the
life of a person is somehow worth more than that of a chicken. Personally, that is not our
way. That is not the way of Cult and Mantis.
I look up and find myself greeted by the wide demonic grin of my sharp fanged companion. He
chuckles lowly and speaks.
"Hungry there, eh Mantis?"
I resume my crowlike stance and poke the fleshy mess beneath my feet.
"As if you would share."
Lifting up a small piece of bone and realising that it is a torn off jaw I raise an eyebrow
and look at Cult.
"You really went all the way on this one, didn't you?", I say and make fists with my foot
talons. I'm kind of glad that no shoes fit me. That way I don't have to worry about wiping
the blood off.
Cult tilts his head sharply and the side of his mouth twitch, "Yeah well I already ate so I
thought I'd just have some fun and save this meal for you. Oh and try not to choke, I think
there's plenty of tiny bits of bones in there. He's pretty broken apart."
Choke? Is that supposed to be funny?
"After all these years you are still under the impression that I could choke? Or be bummed
out by bones in my food?"
Raising his hands apologetically he speaks, "No mouth, right, right, got it."
I bring a small piece of meat to my face without it even touching my skin, absorbing it
from a short distance through where a mouth would have been located. The meat shrinks away
from my hands as it fills my stomach.
Cult jumps up onto the stone wall by the sidewalk, lazily sitting himself down with one arm
resting on his knee, his other leg dangling down the edge. "You do realise that you're the
one that probably have the most interesting way of feeding? Hell, you'd be a scientific
curiosity.", he snickers.
"Right, so says the perfect picture of a normal citizen. Obviously scientists would be
pissing themselves with excitement if they got to get their greedy little hands on
supernatural specimens."
He laughs and strokes his hand back through his short hair, the way he always tends to.
"Yeah well, any regular human wouldn't accept it as reality if they faced one of us boogie
men. They are so rational, always has to be a logical explanation for all things. Yet the
dumb fuckers cling onto their precious religions."
I sigh and roll my eyes and try to get back to the topic once more. "I'm just saying that
I'm no more of a scientific curiosity than you would be."
He leaps off the wall and stretches. Then he opens up those big jaws of his again to mock
me some more. "For a guy with no mouth you sure talk a lot."
Through half closed spiteful eyes I score on the rebound, "Funny. You talk exactly the
amount that I'd expect from a guy that has such a big fat mouth. Why don't you wash it out
every once in a while?"
Cult, the old freakshow has got the widest damn mouth you've ever seen, nearly stretching
ear to ear. I bet the bastard would give great head, had he ever wanted to. Not that I want
to ever imagine such horrors. His bony skull-like face is completed by the lack of a nose.
His nostrils are in handy to get the job done though, he has a sense of smell that
literally is not of this world. It ain't easy but as years pass you eventually do get used
to his appearance.
"Done eating yet?", he asks, yawning loudly.
"Getting there", I reply as I finish absorbing the last clean looking chunk out of the
sloppy excuse for a corpse.
I perk my long ears, picking up sirens in the distance. I may not have the same keen sense
of smell as Cult does but it balances out by my excellent hearing. We won't even have to
hurry to get a clean escape, the cops are minutes away and there's no telling if they are
heading straight at us yet.
"What's up, Mantis?"
I cock my head to look at him, "That's our cue."
He confusedly looks around and tries to hear what I hear. "Eh, could you crank the volume
up on that cue?", he so stupidly asks.
"Cops. Let's call it a night and head back."
<> Cult's eyes.
I open my eyes after a good half nights and half days sleep and find that little runt
Mantis hunched down looking straight at me with those big ass bug eyes of his, "Rise and
splice, sunshade.", he shouts in my face.
As I jump and flinch at the rude awakening his vicious red eyes changes color to a green
glow and he looks rather content with himself. I'll wipe that smug amusement off his
mouthless face. Using both my legs to deliver a kick into his chest I make him fly back,
over the edge. My turn to be amused. Did I mention that we're on top of a skyscraper? Heh.
Shaking my head and sighing happily while listening for the distant sound of a splattery
impact against concrete I find myself a little dissapointed when I hear claws tearing at
stone. Little fucker's got reflexes. I lean over the edge of the building, half expecting
dirty claws tearing me over the edge to send me falling to my temporary doom. But no,
Mantis is just sitting there on top of the gargoyle statue that he managed to grab onto to
save him from falling.
"You about done?", he mockingly growls with a low raspy tone of voice. Cocky little jerk.
Making a slight grimase and rolling my eyes back I offer him my hand and help him up the
last bit of the way. A sharp stinging pain washes over me. I look back down to find my hand
skewered on his favourite knife. Our eyes meet and I let him know how bored I am. Then with
him still holding onto the knife I proceed to lift him back up.
"You shouldn't play with those things, not when you got claws.", I wisely explain with the
clarity that even a new born demon pup would have understood.
"Quit your whining. You only ever complain about my knife when it's lodged in you
somewhere.", he lightheartedly replies. Then he yanks that piece of metal out of my hand. I
let out a low "Hurm..." and take a brief look at the palm of my hand, balling my hand to a
fist and shake it, few drops of blood splashing onto the ground. It'll heal up nicely
within the hour.
Well that was fun. Now to think of something to pass the time until night falls on this
delightfully rotten town. Can't very well stroll down the street when you're of a demonic
breed. Especially not the kinds that look like me and Mantis here. There are many general
names for what we are, but there are different definitions among other kindred. I'm what's
called a ripmouth. It's a subcathegory under demon.
As much as I wish that Mantis would be referred to as a no-mouth, that ain't what his type
is called. Nah, he's a fancy little astobatous darkwraith. With all the crossbreeds out
there it can be a bitch to keep up to date with the correct labels.
"I just remembered, you got a birthday coming up.", Mantis, the considerate little
astomatous astobat says with genuine affection.
"Yeah, what of it?" I reply with an inability to sound suspicious.
"Well, what do you want?", he grunts in a way that makes me wonder where all that rare
endangered friendlyness fled to.
Cleaving my face in two with one of my award winning razorsharp grins I excitedly exhale a
response, "Oo, I want one of those pistols."
"You want a pistol?", he mumbles with one eyebrow raised as he examines his own knife,
stained with my blood. He morphs the lower part of his face revealing an opening between
strands of skin and a very long and very nasty tongue slips out and cleans my blood off of
his knife. It almost makes me feel honored. He very rarely ever reveal what is beneath that
lifesucking surface that covers his mouth. He digs the anonymity of it all I suppose.
Through his actual lips he speaks, even revealing his dark yellow fangs, "Okay, what type
of pistol?".
Throwing my head back and dragging my claws through my hair I deviously grin and say, "The
type that go bang really loud".
Mantis puts his knife away and morphs his face back and for once idly stands up with a
straight back, "I'll look into it."
"Can you make that two? It looks a whole lot cooler using two pistols at once.", I blurt
out, realising that just maybe I'm pushing my...
"Don't push your luck."
...yeah, kind of saw that coming. I read you like a book sometimes, Mantis, or maybe you
just have a nasty habit of stealing the words right out of my ripped mouth.
But I go on, pushing my luck a little bit further, "Just make sure they're identical,
holding one of each kind just doesn't look right."
"Well I couldn't say no to the birthday wish of the closest thing that I have to a brother
now, could I?", he words so touchingly. I take one step forward and ruffles his hair up a
bit. "You better not.", I jokingly threaten him with little more than a whisper.
I always wanted a brother like him. Someone to teach how to hurt people properly. We may
not be of the same blood but both of us regards the other as nothing less than family.
Although I do happen to have a real brother and he's a real nutcase. He learned killing
just fine on his own.
After enjoying some more bullshitting with one another we decide to have a look around. We
can't very well show ourselves in broad daylight, but living the way we do you tend to pick
up some expertise in the art of sculking through the shadows. After leaping off from the
building and landing in a dark alley on top of some trash to slightly break the fall, we
head for the park. We stick to the shadows which isn't all that hard because the park can
be dark this time of year even in the daytime.
The hours go by as we pretend to stalk prey, watching many men, women and children pass by.
We keep playing our game of getting as close as we can get without being spotted.
Eventually the shadows grow long and a full moon rises.
[{ Crowen's heritage
I put down the empty glass and decide to call it a night. Jimmy is still shooting pool with
Burt in the corner of the pub. Gary is still hitting on any women he can find, but tonight
the pickings are slim. All things are as usual. Walking over to the door, Jimmy blocks my
path with the pool cue. Promised him I'd play against the winner. Will make it up to him
some other time. After talking my way out of it while putting on my leather jacket it's out
the door and down the road for me.
Sure it's a crappy place but atleast I got some friends there. Friends that won't give me a
hard time for being american indian. They even helped get rid of the last redneck that
thought it'd be a fun idea to play cowboys and indians. Even though I frequently get in
trouble about it I am proud of being a native. Only problem is that I'm one step closer to
nature than others. That's where the real trouble begin.
I feel like sorting my thoughts out. The night is young and the park is a quiet enough
place for me to relax for a bit. Noone else nearby. Nice and lonely, just the way I like
it. In general it gets a little too lonely because I don't know anyone else like me. My
mind is always in conflict about it. Part of me feels like a freak, the other half lives
for it and is at peace only when the animal takes over. Full moon is a few nights away. I'm
looking forward to it. It gives me strength, fills me with happiness. Although I am not
entirely dependent on the power of the full moon, it sure gives a healthy boost to... just
about everything.
I walk towards a park bench but there's something out there that I can't quite place.
Something on the wind, something in the shadows, something isn't the way it should be. Saw
movement, few trees away. Bad kind of darkness is coming. As I hear a twig snap my
breathing becomes heavier. Instinctive nervosity kicking in. I wouldn't call it fear, it's
just the body getting ready to fight if it has to. Then I hear the whispering. No regular
person would hear it from that distance but one of the sideeffects of being me is that I
can hear it quite clearly.
"I get first bite."
"Wait. There's something odd... something special with this one."
"Yeah, chief looks like something out of a damn western movie."
"No, not that."
"He's looking straight at us, let's kill him before he starts to run."
"We're not killing him. I don't think he's human, atleast not just human."
I feel that it's time to join in on this conversation. I take a deep breath, trying to
manage a steady voice without making it tremble from the adrenaline rush and I call out to
my spectators, "If you're going to take me on, hurry up and get to it. I don't have all
night."
Everything goes quiet. Nothing but trees swaying in the wind. So I call out again, "Come on
out. Why don't we talk this over man to man? Then you can try to kill me."
Another few seconds of silence. Then I hear a voice behind of me that makes my heart jump
and I spin around, facing him... it.
"Man to man requires two human parties. Neither one of us fits that description.", he
smiles.
Mouth like a god damn shark. How did he manage to sneak up on me? Noone ever could.
I stutter, "W-what... are...?"
He interupts me, "Chill out, chief. Might ask you the same thing, I can't quite make it out
just from looking. You being an indian I'd assume something nature-ish?"
Leaves on a branch overhead next to me rattles. I turn to look and find two big red eyes
staring back at mine. It's hanging upside down like a... bat, and this one doesn't look
like it has a mouth. I look around searching for a third party, there was a second
individual whispering before.
"What are you looking for?", says the mouthless one. "Expecting someone?"
"It... speaks?", I ask with a surprised look on my face.
Its eyes turn from red to a bright green, almost glowing. "You can call me Mantis.", he
replies with a rather amused tone of voice. I look at the taller one once more. His left
arm appears to be tattooed, it's got dark blue stripes. I guess he dresses kind of gothic,
tight dark clothes on his upper body, his left shoulder decorated with a shoulder pad.
He taps himself twice on the chest with his index finger and growls, "Cult".
The smaller one, Mantis, leaps from the branch and lands with a thud next to me. It feels a
little awkward with his eyes examining me so thoroughly.
I take a step back, turning my body in an angle. Ready to fight if they decide to make a
move.
"Great, uh... who thought up your names?", I ask suspiciously.
"We did, like them?", says the one called Mantis with enthusiasm.
"Eh, sure. Pleased to... meet you", I speak through quick breathing and my eyes jumping
between the two of them like popcorn.
"You haven't met too many supernaturals, have you?", Cult speaks the second half of the
sentence through gritted pointy teeth, smiling sadistically.
Then it hits me. These two freaks might be the ticket I need to find out why I am what I
am, what my purpose is. Perhaps I could even find more who are... like me?
My obvious response, "No I have not, infact you are the first.", I daringly risk looking
the creature right in his savage yellow eyes. He hasn't shown any aggressiveness yet during
our little discussion, hope he won't start now.
Cult chuckles lowly and says, "Well to put it bluntly, we're demons."
"...Demons?", I repeat.
"Yeah, although different types of demons. But yeah that's the general term applied to the
likes of us.", he responds while dragging his hand back through his thick unwashed hair.
Mantis circles me, more so in a curious fashion rather than posing any serious threat.
"Your turn. What are you?", I hear Mantis say from behind of me.
"I'm Crowen...", I start to say but Cult interrupts me again,
"Crowen? Never heard of a Crowen before."
I frown at him, "No, no. That's my name.", I bite back the urge of calling him a numbnuts.
"Did you think that one up for yourself?", asks Mantis.
"Family name.", I explain.
Cult rolls his eyes, "To get back on topic, mind telling us exactly what you are?"
I start telling them my story, "Grandfather used to call it Loup Garou. He used to tell us
stories. Legends and myths of protectors of the natural balance, shapeshifters. He died
when I was young but he knew all along about me, what I was. He gave me advise, things that
helped me survive and helped me to accept what I am."
I notice that Mantis's eyes go red, with wrath no doubt. I guess he's the irritable one.
"Go on..." he says impatiently. I notice that I dragged my story out more than I had to. It
feels liberating to spill my guts to these strangers, telling them everything. I could have
summorised it all in one word but hey, where's the exciting story telling in that?
"I change into wolf form.", there I finally said it.
"Hah! A fucking werewolf. You hear that, skippy?", Cult beams brightly, making Mantis
groan. I wonder how much it takes to set this guy off. Or how little?
"Shit well, I haven't met many werewolves, but I have seen enough to know that there are
different types. As there are of any species.", Cult says, catching my interest. Part
because of the other potential werewolves that he mentions, part because of the different
kinds.
"Others? I mean, you know others?", I ask with my heart pounding so hard that it ought to
crack through my ribs.
"Well I'm familiar with some. Don't know where they at now, but I'm sure they're around.
Just need to know where to look.", says Cult as casually as if he was asked something like
where the closest auto-shop is.
"Can you help me find them?", I ask with my eyes wide open in anticipation. From his
returned look I can tell that he knows about how thrilled I feel.
"Well that depends.", is his response, but there is something promising in his eyes.
"On what?", I say.
Cult gives a short chuckle, "On how big a mess they make when they're on the prowl and how
much time you got."
"I got all the time in the world.", is my sad but true answer.
"Well then, let's go.", Cult turns around and begins to walk. Just like that? It's that
easy?
Needless to say I follow, but not without question, "We're going right now?"
"Yep, why not? Don't have a clue where any werewolves are right now, well except for you.
But I might know somebody who does."
"Who?", I ask.
"Someone who is cold even by our standards.", Cult says, exchanging looks with Mantis. Then
they both smile, well I assume Mantis's way of smiling is half closing his eyelids and
changing his eyes to a bright green glow.
_-' Viper's frost
It's three weeks ago. I'm in a hospital, pacing back and forth. Waiting. Waiting for the
right time to make the clean kill. They're bringing him out soon, and when they do, every
single one of them will meet their demise. I'm in a small waiting room. It's all empty
except for a woman with a baby. Her neck snapped so easily. Didn't even wake the baby,
whose still soundly asleep in the pram. Until I'm done here anyone else that comes by won't
live to regret it.
My mind is on the target. The one that they, the crime syndicate pay me to kill. Generally,
I really couldn't care less for them. They do what they do and they happen to pay me to do
what I'd do either way. They always send one guy along to keep an eye on me though. They
don't trust me, and why should they?
"Jesus fucking christ, Jesus fucking christ...", he repeats as if chanting.
"Man I've seen some sick shit but killing a woman with a kid, like snapping a twig. How the
hell do you even do that?", he talks too much. "Man they were right about you. You've got
no morals, you just kill anyone, anywhere.", like a cold draft and the typical morning
after fifteen shots of vodka, he's giving me a headache.
"Be quiet.", I whisper without any trace of either anger or annoyance, but to him it sounds
more like a snake hissing. He shuts up. Good.
But after a moment's silence, "Jesus fucking christ..." - Damn.
Can't kill him, I wouldn't get paid, and they'd come after me. Why don't they send a guy
who has the stomach for the job? How typically illogical of them. They're so driven by
emotion. It's their weakness. Part of their strength as well but mostly weakness.
"Why'd I agree to this shit?", he rambles on. How to shut him up? I take two steps towards
him. Using my thumb and index finger I raise my sunglasses to my forehead, revealing my
eyes to him. He sees it. His lip starts to tremble uncontrollably when he sees that I have
slits for eyes, like the common viper. Slowly I bring my finger to my lips in a silent hush
and then fold down my sunglasses to mask my lack of humanity.
As I turn away from Antonio I'm faced with a sight that makes my stomach turn. Little
bundle of fat has awakened in its pram. It looks at me for little more than a second before
it shut its eyes tight and starts wailing. Reaching into my coat, pulling out my silenced
baretta I feel a hand gripping tight at my shoulder, making me turn my head to the side
with a snap and lower my eyebrows at Antonio.
"No man. Not even you could do that, could you?", he complains.
A moment passes without either of us moving. My hand still holding the gun up, pointed at
the ceiling. Pulling the hammer back with my thumb I break the silence with a click.
"What the fuck Murdoch, come on. You don't have to do this, I'll take the baby outside.",
he cries.
The baby's cry is louder. Dangerously loud. Besides that, my headache sets in.
"Could expose us. Need to quiet it down, right now.", I reply maintaining a straight face
and my self control. Self control is rapidly becoming harder.
He reaches into the pram, gently wagging the baby back and forth in attempt to... turn it
off all on its own.
While I start to pace back and forth again he starts to baby talk to it.
"Shh, shh, shh baby, please don't cry. Come on, come on. There, there now. Fuck."
"Shut it up.", I say through gritted teeth. If he was looking my way he'd see my fangs.
"I'm trying!", he snarls back at me with a bit of panic in his voice.
"You're not trying hard enough. Shut it up.", this is too noisy. It'll blow our one chance
of a clean kill.
"You fucking asshole, you can't kill him.", he taunts, failing to affect my mood one way or
the other. I inhale deeply. Then I exhale. This is futile. I watch him desperately trying
to get the baby quiet.
"Shut it... the fuck... up.", my voice has become a low growl.
"Murdoch, Just control yourself man. Just think of something else.", he's panting, gasping
for air althroughout his sentences.
Isn't that cute of him to think that I lack self control. People sometimes are under the
illussion that I lose my self control. It is merely a matter of the choice I make, and I
make it consciously, without losing my self control to act on my own emotion and impulse.
"You need to shut it up. Now.", I barely get a chance to finish my sentence before I hear
movement down the hallway.
No time to argue now.
With the flick of my hand I've taken aim, pulled the trigger and stained Antonios face with
little red baby bloodsplatter. He goes into instant shock of watching its little face cave
in on itself. I assume they didn't hear the silenced shot at this range, atleast not loud
enough to be alarmed by it. Spinning around I take cover, readying myself to take them all
out as they stroll into view. I count the footsteps, I can make out that there's four of
them. I exhale and hold my breath, it will keep my arm more steady. Then it's showtime. I
barely have to adjust my aim to take out the first two guys that stand in line.
Five shots prove sufficient and they start to fall down. The other two have let go of the
stretch that they were pulling on wheels, now reaching for their guns. They're too slow. I
gun them down easily.
The old man on the stretch is weakly moving around, he's not going anywhere. By my count I
have no bullets left in the clip, but I have one round in the chamber. It's almost poetic,
he has practically got his name written on that last round.
I know fear when I see it and judging from his shambly weak movements on the stretch I'd
say he's ready to piss himself. As I walk towards him with fast heavy footsteps his eyes
opens up wider the closer I get to him. He listens to the sound my shoes make, he's
watching me watching him and he knows that I am going to mark his death.
But like it is with all other humans I can't help but wonder if he feels that small glowing
ember of naive hope, that somehow he's going to find a way out of the situation. I think
that he does. But it's not strong enough for him to not realise that he is already a dead
man.
I remove my sunglasses and place them at his feet on the stretch. I manage the slightest
smile as I look at his face, the flabby old skin frightfully wobbling, his mouth silently
wide open. Hmm I can't make out any teeth.
When you're as void of emotion and sympathy for people as I am, the only real pleasure you
get out of this is the philosophical stimulation, such as thinking of something witty to
say before you end a life. Just like they do in the movies. I take aim for his right
eyesocket and finally the time is perfect for a oneliner. But I can't think of anything.
Have to say something, such a waste of a timeless moment otherwise.
Without thinking about what I'm saying, I hiss, "My eyesss are dead..."
The old man closes his eyes, unable to bare looking down the barrel of my gun as I reap his
soul and end his life. I pull the trigger.
Would've been prettier had his eyes been open when the bullet impacted. I tilt my head to
the side before my mind wanders on. "My eyes are dead?", I repeat, mumbling to myself as if
asking for the meaning. Is there a meaning? Did my subconsciousness bring those words to
the surface for any purpose or was it just a random spur of the moment attempt to try to
scare an already scared old man on his death bed?
Next thing I know a cold bullet passes through my back, punctures my lung and exits through
my chest and hits the wood wall infront of me. I drop down, double over, pushing the
stretch away with quite a bit of force as my body falls against it.
"Your *ass* is dead.", witty little Antonio speaks from behind of me. I smile. He managed
to make sense of what I could not. He took it and made it his own. I admire that.
By now he probably realises that my gunshot wound is already healing fast. If not, he'll be
even more surprised now that I'm slowly getting back to my feet. Better not give him a
heartattack so I keep my eyes closed while reaching to pick up my sunglasses. Will he pump
an additional couple of rounds into me or is he smart enough to just leave it at that?
He slowly lowers his gun. Clever guy.
"What are you, Murdoch?", he asks me while I examine the almost fully healed bullethole on
my chest with two fingers.
"It's Viper, now that you've seen my true colors.", I casually respond and walk past him,
heading for the door.
"What the hell are you, Murdoch?!", he shouts after me.
"In the mood of getting paid.", I snarl at him and gestures for him to follow. He doesn't
need to know. He's just the sorry human being they sent along to witness the slaughter and
see to it that no rules are broken, moral rules not included.
On the ride back to HQ I convince him by using scare tactics to not try and spread the word
of me being not human. He can call me Viper from now on if he feels like it. My secret is
safe from the rest, for now. And as long as I'm human to them they don't care how I get the
job done, as long as I get it done.
They order the hits but never care until they individually sit down to dine with the devil.
Seeing it for themselves, ofcourse they object to the methods and get the urge to be more
humane. Heard an old saying once, that goes, "It's easy to be brave from a distance."
Cruelty is no different.