BLADE OF SIN
BLADE OF SIN
(A good song for the intro-if you can find it, because I searched for lyrics for half an hour and I couldn't) {I finally copied the lyrics by listening to the CD a shitload of times, so I hope I got it right}
artist; Star Industry: song; Sin
(lyrics, if I did it right, are the copyrighted property of the owner)
it's been several years till now
the furies' lost; gone somehow
but it shouldn't have left for love
Lucifer told me once again
that your the one, my second pan
raise the souls from seven sins
give me a sign of my sin
and to the darkness here within
never ever let me down again
so give me a sign of my sin
of my sin!
of my sin!
what's inside a world of hate?
down in flames my own crusade
is there a mystery to what lies inside?
cursed by darkness I create
hear the voice of the lost decayed
ask for mercy a mighty mess
give me a sign of my sin
and to the darkness here within
never ever let me down again
give me a sign of my sin
of my sin!
of my sin!
hear the wind
cries out for this lonely sinner
raised by darkness buried and gone
as he spent on some holy ground
a lot of favor and not around
give me a sign of my sin
and to the darkness here within
never ever let me down again
give me a sign of my sin
of my sin!
of my sin!
Unfair words cannot be forgotten. Unfair acts irrevocable. When faced with sin, our faults, all we can do is repent.
Sinwolf repents-and-he never forgets. Great liars deceive. Great violators destroy. Sinwolf regrets.
Eight years hence, a greed-ridden heart cannot see reason. That heart can only see power. It was that long ago, when Sinwolf was sin-stained.
Eight years ago;
Sinwolf acknowledged his awry pack, of which, he was the alpha, not that they particularly liked that. Even now does he wish he did not recruit such loathsome bastards. Too late. Seven canids' who had hearts darker than his, and heavy chains tugging their souls into hell at each transgression, not unlike a certain old fool from a classic Dickens' work. But-but...why was he in any mood to care? Surely none of them had the damn furry balls to off him for his share of the heist? He laughed as if to himself; a private joke. Greed focused him, it did not make him stupid. Those wicked bastards would...not...dare. To send a clear message to his impromptu posse, he parted his leather coat of polished black, allowing the desert moon to glint off his blue-steel Colt single-action navies'. They reflected an almost unworldly, yet dull metallic sapphire glow. These desperate fools he rode with; one angry at the world, one who sin thought was ever more vain than a peacock, one who could not keep his paws off a damn fine piece of tail, one almost too lazy to care about getting up today, one who brought the food rations-and Sin doubted there would be any left over for anyone else, one who would kill another for the slightest gain, and Mr. Cal'e- damn good at what he did and knew it too. Yep. Sin picked himself a bunch of winners. Yep. Right.
As they surveyed the near empty scape, a vehicle came into their view. A very elaborate transport with red walls, black curtains, and gold trim on the edges. It was a stagecoach drawn by a team of four obsidian horses. Definitely looks like the guy riding is loaded. Mr. Cal'e takes aim with a scoped Springfield carbine; a leftover lever-action rifle of the civil war, and favorite among snipers and cavalry corps in the Union. Cal'e adjusts the scope for wind speed and distance, then he resumes and fires. A loud crack like thunder permeates the still air. One of the two lead horses' heads snap back with the tremendous shot, then it tumbles down, tripping the two in the rear. The wagon does not halt and goes through the chaotic morass of tons of screaming, dying, horseflesh. The red stage collapses violently onto its side, crushing under it the lower halves of the rear horses and the armed guard who once sat next to the driver, as it continues to skid onward in the dust a foot or so more. Large amounts of dust are thrown into the air like a smoke-screen. Sinwolf and party gallop down the ridge haphazard as the cloud settles. Two furs, a raccoon and a badger attempt to leave the scene on foot, a large thin black chest carried between them. One of the band raises pistols and fires, killing the badger. The driver, who had actually tumbled off in the crises, was now rising from the position of the guard, a double-barrel gripped in one paw, his opposite arm hung limply at his side, apparently broken. And useless. Sinwolf watches as he and Cal'e raise weapons to shoot-and-a one in a million shot...Cal'e's bullet goes right into one of the shotgun barrels, making it explode in the drivers' face. The driver is thrown backward, his usable arm now pulverized by shrapnel. He collapses dying, bleeding out from a severed vein somewhere on his right side. The raccoon, realizes he is alone...and...he...pushes...an...angel...motif...on ...the...ebony...box. It explodes in their faces as it sends wood splinters dangerously about them. Sin is blasted from his saddle as he watches something like a bright fiery comet get launched into the sky several hundred feet. It turns into a tiny speck. Then...it grows bigger, and he realizes it is coming back down. It falls so fast. He is amazed, dazzled, hypnotized, as it assumes the shape of a long thin object. It goes toward him. He watches, unable to do anything.
A silver sword with crimson symbols glowing on the blade and handle crashes to Sin, the tip going through his armpit, sinking a foot or so into the ground. for some time Sin is impaled horrifically to the earth in this position. he looks over. The sword looks like a katana and a scimitar had illegitimate sex, and seven symbols glow hotly on its surface like it had been freshly forged from the inside. Sinwolf blacks out.
Belial awakens to find he is nearly free. Nearly. He rips the sword rapidly from his new body, taking it in hand as he rises. The bandits watch in horror as Sin comes toward them, a black sheen in his eyes. Belial brought the blade down upon the head of the nearest fool, that of Cal'e. Cal'e vaporized; vanished.
Belial took a feral swing at another, slicing across his stomach. And-and there was no trace of him!
Sin pierced the slovenly idiot in the throat with one rapid thrust. He too, was gone. Now only four symbols on the sword glowed; a countdown of sorts.
The wrathful one raised a gun at him as the whore hid behind him. Belial threw the blade. It went through them like they had never been there. And-they weren't.
Horny guy screamed as he saw the two devoured so neatly, so completely...by the sword of sins.
Belial came to the sword on the ground, and kicked it up the tail-chasers' legs. There was not a drop of blood left to mark his passing. Belial caught the blade and went on toward the last, still mounted. The greedy one pointed his gun at Belial, demanding the sword of him. Belial gladly obliged. When greed reached for the handle offered him, as soon as one talon of his claw contacted the neatly oil-scented leather, the chestnut quarter horse was left suddenly without a rider.
NOW Belial was free.
Belial let the sword fall to the ground, and let his essence be sucked into it. The blade became scarlet from unnatural heat and grew incredibly thick, separating from it four long segments as the pommel grew larger and lost the perfect round shape. And as all this happened, the blade of sin laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
Sinwolf awoke to find himself standing over himself. Was he mad? Dreaming? Dead? The other Sin was black. Pure black. He-or it-looked like a three-dimensional shadow. What the hell is this? The sword was now gone from his arm. His posse was gone, but strangely, left some of their valuable property behind-like their main mode of transport. Sin thought as he saw horses straying about grazing. And...he felt somehow incomplete. Something was different in him. Shadow Sinwolf wandered aimlessly off somewhere, reminding Sinwolf faintly of Frankenstein's monster. I think I created that, and now he's going to go terrorize people...and maybe get torched in a windmill somewhere...or saloon, sinwolf amended. Nearby, someone coughed. Sin went to the guard pinned under the coach and he was, SURPRISE!-still alive.
The grey-haired old rabbit appraised the predator standing over him, faintly curious why the bandit did not kill him. He looked into Sins' eyes...then he knew.
"You released the wicked thing, didn't you?" The guard coughed out, spitting up some blood.
CHRIST YES! Sin wanted to scream.
"I have done something I do not know. Now I do not feel whole." Sin replied.
The rabbit laughed with blood streaming down his lips in sticky mucous-laced strings.
"Feel glad for that. Your evil is gone-mostly." The guard mused.
"What?" Sin frowned.
"Yes...you-you do not realize nor believe in the eighth, I take it?" Bunny croaked.
"Eighth what?" Sin growled out.
"The demon is always created by seven sins and one harbinger. It is these and the harbingers' foulness and form that he embodies. It absorbed all your evil but one. One sin few know. Even I do not formally name it. For your purposes, the eighth is curse, for it represents two faults, not one. The first is regret. The second is the taint of the unforgiven. What-you have done cannot be repented before god. Confess and pray all you desire, but those of taint, the lord will ignore. You may yet redeem yourself only by banishing Belial once again. Now...he will tempt you, trick you, and even try to recruit you. He knows only you can stop him."
"But if that is so, why did he not try to kill me?" Sin mused.
"He can't. I think it's because mephisto, our current ally and ruler in hell protects you, so that he may rule forever more. As for why my friend blew himself up, we had hoped the explosion would prevent you from getting the sword. Vain attempt, at that! Anyway, we are the caretakers of hell, in a way. We keep earth safe from the more sadistic forces of darkness. Belial is responsible for the Black Death, the Crusades, the thirty years war (which was actually a century) and the Inquisition period. My organization made a deal with Mephistopheles to bolster his rule in the underworld and remove that ass, Belial from the picture. Heh. Nothing like 'a kinder, gentler evil', I guess. Mephisto, we believed , was the lesser evil. by his aid, we imprisoned Belial for centuries...UNTIL YOU LET HIM OUT! The seven original sins gave him his power. God, seeing the wickedness he siphoned off of Babylon, destroyed the city, weakening Belial for many ages. Belial regained his power in an ingenious way, however, and spit in God's face at the same time. It was he who started the wars between Catholics and Protestants-Gods' children. When Christians fight over the stupidest details, only evil wins. Now, when he tries to divert you from this journey before you, you will say to yourself. 'Yield not to evils, but attack all the more boldly."
And then the guard died, leaving Sin to ponder the words. And if I DO go on this journey, who may help me? Where will I go? Sinwolf kept his eyes staring at the ground in dismay.
Suddenly, a tiny mound was forming before him, like a giant ant hill. Something-maybe a gopher-was digging up to the surface. Something weird and thin poked out of the top. It looked like a dark brown worm. Then dust fell away, exposing a head and a little body. The thing smelled rankly of sulphur, and it was revealed to be a naked obese stomached little elephant the size of a childs' doll. More evil shit?! Sinwolf cringed in disgust. He had enough of wicked things for one night.
"I am Behemoth! Mephisto sent me to aid you, bub." It piped out.
Then a star shot out of the sky, landing close to his feet and the miniature demon. It was a stunning object. Bright like a star should be. Slowly the glow faded, and he could see a small white thing in its center like the sun. It delicately unfurled ivory feathered wings like a blooming rose. When the light was gone, a tiny pegasus mare in a toga began to yawn tiredly.
"Hey! Watch where your going, you hay-burning bitch!" Behemoth snarled out.
She snorted contemptuously in his direction, laying her small dainty ears back, and then bore out her teeth.
"Not so fast, you little pachy-crap! You won't claim Sin for Mephisto! When this is over, we still expect to see master Sin in heaven, so there!" Then she snorted at him again in finality.
Sinwolf looked on in wonder. My fuck up is that important that I receive guides from both supernatural rulers? What's the universe coming to, he wryly mused.
"What the hell is-" Sin started.
The pegasus faced him and gave a curt bow.
"I am Destria, humble servant of heaven." She nickered out in a friendly manner.
"Better to rule in hell, than serve in heaven." Behemoth mumbled out rudely.
Destria turned on him angrily.
"Yeah? Well, cock face, I don't see you doing either one!" She roared out.
"Up yours! Your probably the daughter of a hawk and a miniature horse that got their freak on!" Behemoth snarled.
"And you look like someone decided to put a dick on a dirty baseball!" Destria retorted.
"So? I think putting wings on a horse is retarded. Those Greeks must have been high to think up something like you!"
Sinwolf waited hours for his "guides" to get their shit together. He hoped he wouldn't have to put up with this baby-sitting crap for long.
Eight years later;
"Master Belial. the one you seek nears." Replied a voice behind.
Belial turned to face a skunk male in a privates' Billie blue uniform. this was, after all, a United States fort. A fort taking much wood to construct, and consequently, denuding the land about. It was built several male heights tall, and had some of the Unions' most fearsome weapons; gatling guns-on chariots-three for each wall. Belial also subverted the two-hundred fur garrison stationed here. Experienced soldiers who had killed Johnnie reb-soldiers who now killed Injun Joe. No, these soldiers were FAR from rusty. He had also tempted a hundred or so nasty characters into his war.
To take him on. To send him back to his prison. Sinwolf...had one hell of a surprise.
Belial dismissed the private, who popped a curt salute, turned away on his heels smartly, and proceeded to march away. Belial then raised one of his revolvers and fired. the gun was loud in the cramped HQ office. The smoke stiflingly thick. A groan elicited from ahead, then a loud thump...Billie blue...never had a chance. While many preach not to shoot the messenger of ill tidings, Belial never read that book.
2 Days later
Sinwolf came upon the outskirt of a town. spying numerous furs armed with shotguns or rifles, he ducked behind a boulder. Nearby a snake hissed at him. Sin kicked it away as he removed two things from his coat pockets. One that was amazingly fragrant of fruits he had never smelled before, the other emanating an odor like bad eggs.
"Rise, both of you. I need help."
Destria politely yawned, while Behemoth grumbled how pissed he was of being disturbed. Sinwolf would gladly take Destria as a favorite; it wasn't as if Behemoth were all that jovial-if jovial was even in the demon dictionary-but he knew he needed them both, contrary to how one implied the other was useless. The guardians peeked around the boulder.
"Definitely didn't come prepared for a church service." Destria observed.
Behemoth-grudgingly-assented.
"This isn't normal. Usually townsfolk wander around their errands with holstered revolvers. But this blatantly looks to be of war." Behemoth mused.
Sinwolf thought as much. But how could he deal with them? If he avoided the town, these people could sneak attack him at a dangerous moment from behind. Besides, he needed a base of operations for his long-sought allies, whom were days away at best. The Blacken Geist Crusaders, descendants of the omnipotent Knights Templar. Though the name and equipment changed, the purpose never would. They must protect and hide the holy grail-the source of their might.
The sword of sin, ha no tsumi, takes years to craft, its entire forging a sacred delicate ritual. A test of patience-a test of sacrifice. The blade must slowly be curved, but only after the metal of it has been folded near infinite times to erase all impurity. For if impure, Belial shall surely exploit such a fault, as devils were wise, tricky sorts. Finally, after the three-year furnace of marble had been choked out, it would be set aside until a new forging were required. The pliable red steel, silver, and platinum of the trillion-fold sword would then be rapidly doused in a basin blessed by Charlemagne. The basin itself contained the sacred healing water of the grail, poured in, cup by cup. Finally the smith would carve the ancient symbols of power upon the blade; seven runes for seven sins. What glyph was for what sin, no one knew. Finally...the sacrifice of good and selflessness. The master who crafted such a weapon of might...would never live to forge another. The ritual of three years ends. Attendants find the finished weapon-through the heart of the maker.
There was only one way through.
Sinwolf drew both his guns, raising them effortlessly as he stepped out of cover. A maligned wisdom forced its way into his body at that moment. A force reckoned to be alien. Something not of Sinwolf. Sinwolf possessed! The thing controlled his body, made him watch his muscles contort with killing ease. Sinwolf-not Sinwolf!- fired once from both guns. The bullets arrive true into enemies before him. A glint above-...Sin raises a pistol to fire into the body of a sniper perched on a water tower nearby as he simultaneously kills another of the posse. Sinwolf empties his guns as inaccurate frenzied enemy fire consumes the air about him like dozens of screaming white-hot banshees! He duck, strafes, rushes onward to a nearby saloon, throwing himself through one of its front windows. Crouching with his back against the portion of wall beneath the shattered window, he reloads his guns with an amazing ease of purpose. He is far from nervous; panicky, as he drops individual .45's into each recently emptied chamber. Amazingly calm in this task, like a veteran of many wars. No, not nervous, not this possessor of stolen flesh. Once complete, he raises the slightly warmed metal to his furry cheeks and twists, poking his torso up to fire. Twelve bullets fly toward shades-shadows-half shadowed crooks-as they pop out of hiding. Sinwolf has no problem. He had already dispatched a large number of those against him.
Something bright crashed suddenly through the opposite window. Destria! He vainly thought. No. Molotov. Molotov Cocktail. A burning whiskey bottle splatters on the wood floor, spilling flaming liquid across a large portion of the socializing hall. Just as fast as if God said, "Let there be light". The possessor stared at the blue-orange flame a moment, perplexed. then came an unusual surprise of splinters and plaster raining about him. Raining on him, as he heard the clattering infinite stream of discharging bullets. Those goddamn fuckers had him pinned. Inside a burning building. With a goddamn gatling gun.
Sin possessed had one choice; he would climb the stairs. He took them gracelessly three at a time in bounding powerful leaps. The smoke was bad up here. Shit goes downhill. Smoke travels upward. It was fucking terrible. Sin went to a nearby room, looked out the window, and discounted its usefulness. This window overlooked the wide street. He went to another room. This one had a well used peter pan, so it was probably once rented by a whore. Sinwolf smashed the window and looked out to a window facing his on the second story of another neighboring building. Sinwolf took the pan and threw it through the opposite window even as the giant gun now began to tear holes through the second story he was now in! Sin had to do this right-if he did not burn-if he did not choke-if he did not get chewed up.
Sinwolf saw his window of opportunity, and so he took it.
He jumped then rolled through the opposing window of this different building. It was a supply store. He proceeded to run hastily down the steps to the store counter. Arranged about were the usual fare; flour, corn meal, salt blocks, cart-wrighting tools, knives, enamel ware, gunpowder barrels (five pounds each), and boxes of bullets preserved in waxed paper. The rear gun rack lay bare, explaining where some of the posse retrieved their weapons. Sin had scant moments to think of something before they caught on to his escape. True, with a large stock of bullets, he would not run out for some time. But-all this gun powder made even the veteran possessor of Sin nervous. Another Molotov-a stray bullet. Sin could kiss his fluffy ass goodbye. As he stuffed pockets with ammo boxes, he realized he should not seperate the bullets from the kegs at all! He should put them together. He saw a basement trapdoor nearby and decided that this plan would be survivable. Sin got to work on his surprises.
Upstairs, he heard them approach, heard two sets of boots scuff the floor and the annoyed conversation above. Sinwolf lit the fuse. In less than two seconds, the thin gunpowder eating flame came across the primer; a pot filled to the brim with bullets and gunpowder. The pot is rapidly afire, the bullets overheat and discharge. Two bodies thump on the ground as the bullets eventually set off one, then dozens of black powder kegs that have cartridges, shotgun shells, and anonymous metal objects all jammed inside. The effect is like setting off hundreds of grenades. He hears panicked screaming up there. Sin waits a moment longer, then tears down his mattress shield. He goes cautiously above. The store is almost gone. Hell, it looks like shit. Nearby on the street, an enemy is dead, an eating utensil in his leg.
"Stick a fork in him, he's done" Sinwolf wryly observes.
Louder, the deafening staccato semi-interruptive bark and intermittant gear clicking draw his attention. The gun emits an almost tack-tack-tack noise. Not quite a sharp bang of pistols, not quite a resounding boom of thunderous long-range arms. The noise, strangely enough, reminds him of a clown puppet, it's malicious jaws tapping together like the silent laughter of some unreal, unfathomable substitute for evil.
Two dozen thugs are around the gun. Damn. Possessed Sin had thought he killed more than that. They saw him, raised weapons. Fired. Sin crash-rolled into a nearby alley between two buildings, landing hard-almost painfully crashing. Then he heard something he wish he didn't.
Enemies closed off one side of this enclosed space, as the machine cannon was being rolled to the other! Sinwolf looked to the walls-no windows on ground level to jump through. Then an idea struck him.
It would be pretty awful if the gunner missed...
Sinwolf set off a bundle of powder he had saved. It quickly blocks the narrow passage with gray-black smoke. He flattens his body against the ground as the gunner blindly fires-and blows his allies on the other side away! The laughing bark barely registers to Sinwolfs' ears, but one thought does amuse him.
You might be laughing, but that's because YOUR the dummy.
With the gunner left, Sin follows the orange-white brilliance of the bullets tearing through the fog, and follows it to the source. Dumping the used casings from his guns (he barely had enough time to set up the trap, much less reload) and slides one bullet into his right gun, firing through the haze. A figure groans, slumps.
Sinwolf picks himself up, his work done, the possessing force leaving him, as he waits for his allies to arrive.
3 Days later
Males and females clad in black, a hundred or so, arrive in their wagon train at the newly named Sin City. Even those darkly dressed mirthless protectors did not miss the irony of title. One approached Sin, whom had been waiting for them as he lounged on the enormous prize he had taken in his battle; the eight barrel horror of death.
"Brother Sinwolf! It seems we were not needed for this task, after all. Never mind. The prison is complete." Replied the large strong-armed bear who approached; father Aegos.
His robes were purest black with a cowl of the same tone. His vestment about his great shoulders contained red and black cross-hatched diamonds. A beaten old medallion cast from the steel of one of the first knights' broken swords, lay lazily about his throat, a simple motif of the much sought chalice emblazoned on both faces. Sinwolf launched himself eagerly from the cannon toward the wizened teacher of demonology.
"Good to see you father Aegos! See what the armorers can do with this, we may need it for our upcoming struggle." Sin responded.
When Sin approached Aegos, the towering bruin already had the relic grasped in both paws. Gracefully, benevolently did he wait as according to his station.
"Now kneel, brother Sin, for you are not a knight until the title, task, and implement are officially given." Aegos denoted.
Sin stopped shortly in front of him and did so. Aegos tapped his shoulders and brow delicately, decisively with the mighty steel.
"Now, brother Sin, do you pledge, to the best of your ability, to accomplish your trial and uphold the code and conduct of our ancestors, the Knights Templar?" Aegos solemnly declared.
Sin slowly nodded.
"I do so as it is decreed, God have mercy on those weak of virtue." Sinwolf replied.
"God have mercy on us all." Aegos gently corrected, handing the blade slowly over to Sin.
Strangely, as he held it, the weight was miraculously familiar, as if he were born to wield it.
"And so you are so thus Knighted. Sir Sinwolf, Devilbane, and scourge of corrupt forces. Rise into your title and be one with the Blacken Geist Crusaders." Aegos pronounced.
Sinwolf did so, though he wondered...faintly wondered...
If they had a chance in hell of success...
2 Days later
The smiths had announced that their work was done. As sinwolf was beckoned to an empty space among the encampment of the city, the weapon was being rolled out from a nearby livery, a white dusty tarp thrown over it.
"What do we have here?" Sin quietly mused.
Among the apprentices, three or four various species, was the master armorer Shelkie. Shelkie is a unicorn, born to aristocrats, perhaps rumoured even to have direct, though hazy lineage, to Great Britain's' monarchy. How he got involved in the trade of a commoner, Sinwolf did not know nor bother to guess. Shelkie invariably replaced the previous artisan Coronado; whom sacrificed himself to the forging. Sin never got to know Coronado much, always having met Shelkie as a liaison, as his master had been unforgivingly, brutally busy. The unicorn smiled slightly, giving an astonishingly graceful bow. Sinwolf was amazed by the fact there were so few burns and marks on the equid. Working with searing heated metal is not a task taken lightly, and even those whom call themselves masters of such an art are never unblemished. But the unicorn was strangely...without the scars of serious mistakes.
Better a smith than glassworker, anyway. Glass making, too, had it's dangers. Even more so when blowing shapes for bottles and vases. If one blows hot melted glass at the end of one of those metal tubes...and it should collapse...the glass bubble would surely send fiery hot air down the blowers' throat to scorch their lungs-very unpleasant death.
"A long time, surely, Sir. Sin?" Replied Shelkie.
Sinwolf grinned himself, removing his heavy coat.
"My apologies about your master and teacher. if I had never released Belial, you would never have had to grieve his death." Sinwolf mused.
Shelkie appraised the wolf knight with an ironic skepticism.
"When you came to us, when you found our cloistered organization with the bad news, Coronado knew his death was near. Very little time he had for us, his students, very little time he had for his friends. BUT!-you should not blame yourself. Eight years hence were you different. I was different. We are what we experience, not what we become, not what tempts us. And I do not live with regret, and nor should you. If your greed had not consumed you that night many an age ago, we would never have met, and you would have no chance of redemption. Perhaps this is Gods' way of saving your soul and keeping Mephisto on his toes at the same time." Shelkie mused, rolling his effeminate, yet masculine withers in trepiditious amazement, blowing a great sigh from his nostrils.
"When does the pain go away?" Sinwolf mused.
Shelkie closed his delicate eyes briefly.
"It never does. Not for any of us. Not when we care. We should be grateful for that. Let each life have meaning, significance, and we deny any devils their curse to place apathy in us." Shelkie observed.
Sinwolf nodded, somewhat taken aback by this wisdom. truly fascinating. He says what only a unicorn can.
"Hmmm...but you did not come here to beg of your offence, did you? No, you gave me and my journeyman underlings a most...unusual task, did you not?" Shelkie offered, lightening the tone of the moment.
"Yes. I couldn't help but let some thoughts become more pronounced." Sinwolf replied in agreement.
"The vision you bore us was very unconventional, to say the least." Shelkie noted.
"Is it my gun?" Sin demanded.
Shelkie gave a jubilant horsy laugh, which had an airy presence about it.
"After the hell you went through, I don't doubt this toy is yours. What I doubt is...um...this?"
Then Shelkie tore the linen off, exposing the strange new paint job of the gun (but just "paint job" didn't really do THAT overhaul from insanity justice).
The gatling gun was painted on the carriage and rear portion in black. A bullet guard had been secured right behind the revolving barrels. The guard itself painted white and black to resemble a mime face, the barrels seeming to come out of a grinning mouth of lunacy. The barrels painted bright red with heat resistant glaze. The spinning barrels looked out of place, as they spun continually clockwise like a tongue that made absolutely NO FUCKING SENSE!
"Is it too late to tell you that I hate clowns?" Shelkie nervously offered.
Sinwolf tapped his gun.
"That's the idea. I hate them, too. Everyone hates clowns." Sinwolf mused aloud.
"Then why? This I do not understand." Shelkie shrugged, confused, rubbing his brow.
"Exactly. Nobody understands. I don't, you don't , and neither will anyone else. If anything, from what I gathered from the firing noise, this would be most akin to an object of intimidation." Sin declared.
Shelkie went up to the gun, tapped it shyly, and backed off hastily.
"If you say so. This thing freaks me out, and I'm the one who customized it!"
Sin laughed at that.
"Why so much worry? It doesn't seem as if he wants to hurt you. See? He's smiling! He's happy to see you!"
Then Sin playfully shoved the unicorn right at the gatling gun from the carnival of god knows where. Shelkie caught himself briefly on the crank handle, before nervously pushing himself off and backing rapidly away.
"That's not bloody funny! It was bad enough modifying it. I don't want to see this any more unless it is far from me!" Shelkie angrily protested.
"Actually, You say this is no laughing matter, but I certainly find humor in it! And you should get used to it, I still need someone to repair the damn thing." Sin retorted.
1 Day later
"It is wise, after viewing the schematics of the fortress, that direct attack will be ineffective. However, without heavy artillery, breaching the gate from afar is not conceivable, either. We therefore have one option. With experience in masonry, we can dig under, set a mine, and detonate it, crumbling one or more walls. Belial will know what we are up to, but if we post sentries to watch all sides, and at all times, he will not attempt escape while we dig for however long it will take. He will stay in his Thermopylae, the safest place he has." Sinwolf declared.
Some among the gathering nodded, others mumbled to friends nearby. One cheery arctic fox raised a paw.
"Sir sinwolf. How do you guarantee this will work?"
Sin frowned at that.
"Because failure is not acceptable. Not for Coronado's sacrifice, not for the deaths to come in this dark hour."
1 Month later
Even despite boredom, surely Shelkie must have something better to do. Sinwolf thought, mirthful. The unicorn smith had called him over earlier for an impromptu get together with old friends of the order. Sin came to an outdoor campfire, where Shelkie, Aegos, Sashanne, and Jarkhan were ringed about. Aegos offered him a spot between him and Sashanne. it was no secret he and Sashanne the tigress had been mated. Sashanne is the orders' prominent assassin, and to this day, she has not botched one mission given her. Trained by Jolin, Jarkhans' father (now deceased), in the art of sharpshooting, and by Yenov in camouflage, deception and street fighting. Yenov always went by his own code, "Anything worth fighting for, is worth fighting dirty for." Yenov is now deceased as well. Jarkhan, on the other paw, is her opposite. Where Sashanne was subtle, the heavily muscled bull-was not. Jarkhan had no problem wielding two heavy rifles at the same time, usually Winchesters, for they could be cocked easily one handed. It was no random occurrence for his friends to be here, he knew. Aegos had something planned.
"Good to see you." Came the gruff voice of Jarkhan.
"And pleased to share some tidings, as well, wolf-mate." Purred Sashanne silkily.
"Don't blow the bloody surprise." Growled Shelkie warningly, as he reached out and slapped the tigress playfully.
"Surprise?" Mused Sinwolf.
Aegos stood to address them all.
"Yes, that is apt a term if there were. In the occurrence of the battle, you may need allies close at hand. I have run the idea by those who you know best. Some more than others,' then he gave a conspiratory wink in Sashannes' direction, before he continued, 'you need an honour guard, I think. Not that I doubt you can do it, but...you'd be surprised what can be done with some friends." Aegos declared.
"All well and good. I know why I need Jarkhan with me, but what good are an assassin and blacksmith? Your arrangement might be more sympathetic than tactical." Sinwolf protested.
Aegos nodded, expectant of this argument.
"Sashanne is just as good as a scout. True, she's not trained to deal with a massive firefight between hundreds of soldiers, but give her shelter on the way, and she can cover you against enemy snipers. Shelkie...he has no combat experience I know of. He was trained in fencing when he was still a noble, but the only handling of guns he has done is to repair them. He's on your guard for three reasons; to repair the big gun as you travel, to teach you about fencing, because Belial intends to defend himself to the end, and there are cavalryfurs' swords for him to use, and finally, as a unicorn, he can detect the minor nuances of deception and lies you may encounter: that will reduce the chances of treachery greatly." Aegos responded.
"Treachery?! That doesn't matter! I don't care if Belial lies to me, I'm still shoving him in this goddamn sword!" Sinwolf growled in offence.
"Chaotic things, are battles. How will you know who is part of our order? Surely Belial must have forged our robes and vestments, and trained some of his soldiers to infiltrate us. How do you know that ally behind you won't plunge a dagger in your hide in 'et tu, brute?' style? You don't unless you remember every hundred or so of our faces in less than a week. For that matter, unless one is well familiar with the members, a doppelganger may fool the rest of us as well. Shelkie will counteract all that. He and all his kind are an honest, undeceitful sort. They know what honesty looks like in expression and what honor looks like in action. Have you ever tried lying to a unicorn?" Replied Aegos.
Sinwolf shrugged.
"I never even thought about it. Even us of the light have no awareness of lying. It is a common thing. Play hooky when we are too hung over to work. Lie to friends about being busy with something when they annoy us too much. Heh, we must confuse the hell out of the little unicorn by not saying what we mean and not meaning what we do!" Sinwolf ruefully acknowledged.
Shelkie shrugged carelessly.
"It's not that bad. Unicorns are only one species out of thousands. My parents have long taught me that we can't judge other species by our code alone. Sometimes the ultimate judge of character is one's own heart. Nobody can run away from that. So, please do lie, and use those interesting euphemisms as well. Even though I look down on liars and am incapable of such an act myself, I do remember that the offense of a lie is not as important as the reason it is being told. That is why we have the white lie? You lie about a death if you feel someone cannot handle it. After all, who wants to know their son died in agony getting burned alive or chewed up helplessly by animals? And that every second felt like a year as they suffered? Some truth is better not known. Or lies we tell children to make them happy or keep them safe? Because WE cannot lie, it is harder to explain to our foallings why they have presents on Christmas without spoiling them and making them selfish with the idea that their parents can buy anything they want! We all seem to agree it is best to raise humble, thankful offspring, I suppose."
"I hear that! I want my calves to grow up honest, hard-working bovines. You don't get that if children think they can grow up to manipulate others for selfish reasons!" Jarkhan roared.
Shelkie appraised the taur in wonder.
"Why, Mr. Bull! I had no idea! Children? And I thought I knew you so well. Someone must be keeping secrets! I could easily smell you weren't a virgin (another unusual trait of his breed), but I did not know you were married!" Shelkie declared.
"I'm uh...not." Jarkhan mumbled.
Shelkie's eyes went wide, not because Jarkhan had lied, but because he told the stark truth.
"Oh, shit! Children out of wedlock! I never heard that secret before either! When ARE you proposing?" Shelkie enquired.
"I'm not doing that either. I don't want to marry that fine cow until I get my ass out of this dangerous place! Don't want her to be too attached if I die, you know." Jarkhan reasoned.
"Too late for that, you fool! She's having your offspring! Do you thing it will ease the memory of your supposed death anymore if she has to look at your shared children, into the eyes or at the nose of yours they inherited? Idiot. You either go all in, or not at all! This half-assed idea of saving her grief is compromised!" Shelkie admonished.
"Up yours, horse. I don't have the I.Q. to think things through. The important thing is that I got as far as I did in my plan because I do sincerely LOVE her! And before you judge me, think about the contempt your kind has for those who lose their purity at the wrong time. So, I'm unmarried and fucked my mate anyway. So I didn't wait for the goddamn honeymoon. What we do with our lives to make a better world should speak wonders about us non-'corns. We don't have your sparkling benevolent virtues, but we try to be on our best behaviour, anyway. Why? because the world would suck if we only looked out for ourselves."
10 Days later
Destria and Behemoth sat on his shoulders as he waited for the fuse to go off.
"Going to be a biiig boom, boss." Reflected the demon.
"You don't need keys to the castle when you can walk through the back door-or front hole in the wall." Behemoth continued.
"And spare me any grief for those who perish in such an event. They knowingly joined a force of evil, let them die for it as well." Destria snorted.
"Sounds very non angel-like to say such things, if you ask me." Sinwolf observed.
"Heaven have no fury like an angel scorned. What are you going to do to the sinners? Grow flowers on them?" Then behemoth gave a nasty chortle.
"Shut up demon!" Destria demanded, hurt.
An explosion rocked the earth like a giant salt shaker. The ground above the mine rose a foot in the air and collapsed into a giant sinkhole, taking the adjoining logs with it as soldiers tumbled down the side like ragdolls. Best of all, the guns on this side went down with them, crashed to useless scraps, leaving the fort vulnerable.
Soldiers then rushed to picket at the breach, forming in various rows, and prepared to deliver concentrated barrage fire at those who made the attempt to get past.
Now or never. This is as weak as they could get. Sin drew his sword, raised it, and slashed air, signaling the charge. A hundred warriors surged past him like a plague of locusts in their robes. Jarkhan then proceeded to propel the big gun as Sashanne and Sin provided covering fire at the flanks of their small position. Shelkie-grudgingly-operated the gun itself as Jarkhan aimed it. The fire from the gun was inaccurate, nonconcentrated, so a few all over the picket collapsed with scored hits. Sinwolf listened to the empty heartless laugh of his gatling cannon, of the empty shells clattering to the ground like rain on small bells with each tingling ejection. Sashanne and he raised Winchesters' to take out those in the front, for they were harder to be replaced. Suddenly, the gun went dry, leaving them exposed.
"Company! Suppression fire!" Sin ordered.
Half of the raiders stopped to fire their weapons as the rest surpassed their positions.
Jarkhan stopped, taking a massive pack from his back. As the bull fished for another magazine, Shelkie removed the empty and began to drop more shells in it for later. Jarkhan triumphantly seizes the clip, shoving it into place. Shelkie sees this and puts the half full clip in his leather smithy coat. No time wasted here! The unicorn operates the gun again as Jarkhan proceeds to reshoulder the supplies.
As the gun starts up, the monks continue their charge, now beginning to recite the anthem of their order. Sins' honor guard join in and reluctantly, so does Sin.
through blackest day
through darkest night
I brandish my sword
with indefinite might
with light of night
and bright of day
my heart never lies
it shows me the way
with evil fight
with evil force
I destroy both
with rightful course
with red in my eyes
with white burning my skin
I fight all the darkness
with strength from within
the beam in my eyes
the glow in my heart
I will never surrender
my resolve will not part
Suddenly! Only twenty feet from the breach, the soldiers scatter and reveal behind them a gatling gun of their own!
"Holy fuck! Sonsofbitches! Belial had a surprise for us!" Sinwolf exclaimed, stricken.
The enemy gun opened up.
Friends all about him were shredded to furry pieces, Jarkhan himself taking one in the armpit.
"ERG! Dammit!" The bull rumbled, but still went on.
"Are you-" Shelkie began.
"Just shut up and fire horse! We gotta kill that fucker!" Jarkhan demanded.
Sashanne aimed-fired. The gunner went down, but was rapidly replaced by another.
"Sashanne! you and me gotta keep 'em off that gun!" Sin ordered.
The tigress shoved cartridges in the underside of her rifle.
"Don't got to tell me twice! A threat to our friends is a threat to us!" She replied.
An unusual silence followed. The gun had stopped, but the gunner still cranked frantically. Did that retard forget to reload? Sinwolf cringed as the soldier replaced magazines, started again-and nothing happened!
Suddenly, the two guardians popped up sitting on his gun. No one paid them attention, so Sin guessed only he could see them.
"Hey boss. We got to talking and agree on ONE thing. You need an early christmas present." Behemoth declared.
Sinwolf gazed in disbelief at the metal gear between them.
"You didn't." Sinwolf mused.
"Didn't what, Sir Sin?" Shelkie responded.
Sin shrugged.
"Nothing. Carry on."
"Yes we did! I was a bad little pegasus today. That part is from deep inside. It would take them hours to replace it-if they had that time!" Destria giggled.
Sinwolf smiled at that, at one less worry. They reloaded a fourth time and Shelkie complained of a sore wrist, so he and Shelkie switched places. Crusaders in the lead jumped over the bodies into the breech like the Light Brigade into the jaws of hell. And as they did so, they uttered the anthem again as they faced a hundred or so enemies from all sides-
through blackest day
through darkest night
I brandish my sword
with indefinite might
with light of night
and bright of day
my heart never lies
it shows me the way
with evil fight
with evil force
I destroy both
with rightful course
with red in my eyes
with white burning my skin
I fight all the darkness
with strength from within
the beam in my eyes
the glow in my heart
I will never surrender
my resolve will not part
The first do not have a chance, but they die gloriously. Other Crusaders replace them. Unexpectedly, a dozen or so blue boys' open up on their own people.
"Holy shit! A mutiny?" Shelkie observed.
No. Their movements were fluid like water. They were possessed by Mephistos' minions like he himself not so long ago.
"you've allies in heaven." Destria declared.
"You've comrades in hell." Behemoth mused.
At that prompting, Sin laughed. Do what you can for the best and (literally) leave the rest to God (or the Devil, apparently). Sins' party left the gatling gun behind as they climbed the steep sides of the hole to get in the fort. As they passed through, the demon possessed soldiers saluted his group...and killed themselves.
"Jesus!" The unicorn shrieked in bewilderment.
The remaining Crusaders made up a perimeter on the parade ground and courtyard area, as groups of two broke off from the rest to clear out the nearby buildings. Sinwolf rushed the rampart leading to the building on the second story-the HQ.
They somehow made it unscathed to the double doors of the building, despite the chaos and death about. but now-
"I'm going alone. Cover this entrance." Sin ordered.
His team took up defensive firing positions as he entered.
Belial wolf lounged in his chair with his hind paws on his desk.
"What took you so long, brother?" The shadow mused, smiling at him.
It finally ends! All this bullshit! All this waiting! Sinwolf raised the sword and lunged for Belial-and was parried! Aegos was correct. Sin slashed, stabbed, even feinted, but was foiled at every turn. Dammit! He's way better than me. I can't beat him like this. But strangely-was shadow sin playing with him? Why did he not ever attack?
"Why do you not strike at me?" Sin growled.
"You amuse me too much." It responded with degratory pride.
A thought struck him. What if they WERE more or less like brothers?
"You can't kill me. Only your minions can." Sin declared.
Belial gave a great laugh.
"Your right! If I destroy you, I destroy myself. Like two sides of a coin we are. So utterly...alike." Belial mused.
"No! Not anymore! The sin who made you is gone, and I won't let him come back!" Sin protested.
Then it all clicked into place. His destiny, purpose. No one really knew what he was supposed to do with the sword. He assumed he had to kill Belial with it. In a way, that was true, though indirectly.
"I am your creator. There is only one way through. Through the heart of the maker." Sin mused, amazed.
Now he is unsure. Is he willing to die-like this?-for the cause?
"I don't blame you. I wouldn't want to die, either." Belial genially observed.
But he had to! He had to kill the devil! Sinwolf cringed, his body shaking. where were demonic possessors when he needed them? Free will. You chose to release him. You must choose to capture him. Even if he must die to do it? Coronado died for his beliefs. Yes. Yes he did. He was greater in will than I. A perfect example of purity and good. Fear doesn't matter! Bravery is not the absence of fear, it is the knowledge of it and the decision to carry on, anyway. Sinwolf placed the sword tip against his chest, preparing himself to fall on the floor against it.
"Wait! No! If you kill yourself, it's suicide! you'll go to hell!" Belial protested.
Sin threw his head back with a great, insane laugh.
"Awfully afraid, are we? Better to serve in hell, than let the greatest evil of fur-kind walk the earth for one minute longer!" Sin collapsed on the blade.
The tip erupted from his back in a horrid arc of blood as it sunk into him to the hilt.
"Yield not to evils, but attack all the more boldly. That's Virgil, asshole." Sinwolf coughed out as Belial shrieked his anger of being defeated-and of having to spend another eternity in a cold, merciless, and unyielding construction of war.
Is this the end?
2 Days later
Sinwolf wakes, surprised that he is alive.
"What-what the hell happened?" Sin groaned, rising from a pallet on the ground.
"Hell itself, I suppose. When we heard that thing scream, we charged in and found you dead. We were ready to mourn you, when Shelkie shoved through us, kicked you over, ripped the sword from your chest, and plunged his horn to the forelock into your wound, delivering every bit of his magic to resurrect you. Apparently, unicorns have enough magic from birth to purify thousands of lakes or illnesses-or to revive one soul from deaths' door." Sashanne explained.
"Shelkie...Shelkie saved me?" Sinwolf declared, confused.
"God told me, from my foalhood, to save all my power, for a friend may need it. Now I am depleted, unmagical. I have no more power left to do anything, but for you, gladly have I given it, for you are a friend beyond friendship and-I-well...I love you." Shelkie spoke.
Master armorer Shelkie is gay?! Sin wasn't sure how he felt about that. He saved my life! I can't just blow him off. Besides, I shoved a sword through my chest, how bad can that be compared to a unicorn shoving his pink rapier into my tailhole? Sin decided he would give the effeminate unicorn his chance-and maybe Sin might even enjoy it.
Sin dropped his pants and lifted his tail, exposing his anus for the lusty unicorn. And as Shelkie sauntered forward with longing in his eyes, Sinwolf again, thought-
Is THIS the end?
No, merely the beginning of greater things to cum.
ending theme;
Cruxshadows: Heaven's Gaze
(lyrics copyrighted respectively to owners)
Shades of feelings my heart denies
bathing in shadows hidden in the eyes of lies
my glowing future now these embers burn
uncanny restlessness- but ask me what I've learned......
prey insect visions swarm about my head
each haunted thought, and each prying wedge
slice ripping pieces and shredding pages of life
if this is real- well it feels like hell! yes it feels like Hell!
gods and angels and devils smile
stare into our crying eyes
fire in anger and hate beguile
but look into your heart tonight
We disregard the cold pedestrian grey
where level playing fields weren't meant for us to play
as riddled failings salvation turns away
if this is real- well it feels like hell! yes it feels like Hell!
gods and angels and devils smile
stare into our crying eyes
fire in anger and hate beguile
stare into your heart tonight
gods and angels and devils smile
stare into our crying eyes
fire in anger and hate beguile
but look into your heart tonight
"There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root."
-Henry David Thoreau