Hellstinger

16. ...the Hunters' kid...

"Damn, I'm drunk." Marcus thought to himself as he rushed out of the restroom. He knows Alexander can't possibly hold off all three men, especially the purple goatee giant. He had run out to get help only to find himself confusing the main exit with the restroom.

"This is something Big Joe would've handled without breaking a sweat," Marcus mumbled to himself as he dashed across the dance floor with his eyes fixed on the door and his shoes flashing on two inches depth of water. He hadn't even noticed the fire alarms were still ringing, although he noticed the shower from the sprinkler system, he didn't notice the odor of the water, and he definitely didn't notice the black man running towards him from the side with the force of an army.

He felt the black man slam into him in a spear dive, tackling him to the ground like a wrestler. The impact took the pair eight feet out, but the momentum as well as the liquid on the plastic flooring of the dance floor sent them sliding - entangled - all the way to the far side of the club until the partition of a booth stopped them.

<<< Grr..! >>>

Before Marcus could regain his bearings, he felt a punch on his left cheek. The black man didn't let on, he sat atop Marcus and delivered four successive blows that all landed square in Marcus' face. Breaking his nose and splitting his lips.

"You are not worthy of the breath you breathe!" He groaned, wrapped his hands around Marcus' neck, and squeezed with all his might; muscles bulging, eyes widening, and intention set on murder.

Marcus scratched desperately at the man as his life slipped from his grasp and all he could feel was the strength of the fingers wrapped around his neck with a murderous intention. And there is nothing he can do to save himself.

"You shouldn't be alive!" The man said with a deranged hatred. His fingers tighten around Marcus' throat, quickly draining what little strength he had. "You shouldn't have survived."

Marcus wanted to ask what he was talking about. He had never done anything to warrant this kind of hatred from anyone, and he wanted to know why these men wanted him dead, but with his life fading away, all he could do was futilely try to fight him.

"Your parents knew," The man said with vindictive hatred, "they knew they stood no chance, they knew they couldn't protect everyone. And what did they do? WHAT DID THEY DO?!"

The fog in Marcus' senses cleared on the mention of his parents, and the first thing that occurred to him;

'He knew my patents?'

"You should have died with them...you should have just died!"

"But you didn't. You are just as filthy as your parents, you FUCKING SCUM!"

'Scum? Did he just...? Scum?'

Marcus blinked once to clear the layers of desperate tears and dirty sprinkler water from his eyes, he blinked again and everything turned black and blue. The space and floor were black and he could literally see the man's soul; a blue flamelike entity with a swirl of darkness around it.

Maybe it was the mention of his parents or the unjustified hatred or the insult on the people he held at the highest regard; his parents, or maybe it was the anger that flared up. Marcus isn't sure. But at that moment, something swelled within him... something powerful.

Marcus blinked again, and everything went back to normal. Or at least almost normal. His strength was returning as anger set in. He grabbed the black man's wrists, squeezed, and started pulling his hands apart until his neck was free again and his lungs were able to take in again.

Taking in a lungful of oxygen; "my parents were heroes." He said with an involuntary gasp, dirty sprinkler water entering his mouth and eyes as he spoke.

"Wha...wha..." The black man couldn't believe it. He couldn't understand where Marcus was getting the strength to pull his hands apart. And try as he may, he can't overcome Marcus' strength even though he has a posture advantage.

"They were the mightiest of the Hellstingers," Marcus said, his eyes swirling and glowing a sharp turquoise. "And they gave their lives to protect sons of whores like you."

In one swift move, Marcus gathered himself and headbutted him right in the nose. A rather loud crack indicated a broken nose as the man groaned in pain. Marcus shifted his weight to the left and threw him off.

"Grr!" The black man groaned in pain and clear anger, he picked up a half-empty bottle of beer and poised himself for attack.

Marcus quickly jumped to his feet. All the alcohol in his system was gone, his feet seemed lighter, and his visions clearer. Although he has no idea what is happening, he has every bit of intention to beat this hoodlum to a pulp.

"You, you are a freak," The black man said with a disgusted look. He picked himself up and charged with a deranged anger, "DIE!"

His bottle raised high over his head and his eyes filled with nothing but hatred. Marcus felt time slowed, as though he had all the time in the world to react.

He caught the raised hand by the wrist, reeled around to position himself under the arm - the same way he had seen Alexander do on countless occasions throughout the years - and in one smooth motion, threw the black man over his shoulder almost like a judo pro.

<<< Who-oa! >>>

The man sailed through the air in a wide arc and landed on the brick waist-high partition separating the dancefloor from the booth. A crack compensated for Marcus' effort as the man bounced on the partition and fell into the booth, unconscious.

"That is for insulting my parents," Marcus said. He turned around to go and see how Alexander was fairing only to feel the purple goatee man's heavy fist land on his face.

Marcus heard a resounding crack and felt himself launched over the partition and into the metal pole pillar of the booth by the impact of the blow. A hammering headache immediately set in, but the purple goatee man wasn't relenting.

He had barely settled when he felt himself lifted by his collar and slammed onto the circular table of the booth;

"You..!" the Purple goatee man said, pressing his weight on Marcus as Marcus' spine was positioned on the edge of the table. The only thing saving Marcus from having a movable joint in his backbone was his left hand which had reflexively grabbed onto the pole pillar for leverage.

"You have the Hunters' eyes," Purple goatee said with a sick smile of satisfaction as he looked straight into Marcus' glowing eyes with narcissistic glee. "And your hair...it is just alike. You really are the Hunters' kid, aren't you?"

As though to punctuate his words, Marcus vaguely heard the sound of glass breaking but he lucidly felt the pain of the jagged edges of broken glass piercing his left ribcage.

<<< ARGHH..! >>>

Marcus screamed in agony and somehow, his righthand closed around something as though handed to him. In a pained rage, Marcus stabbed the purple goatee man in his torso with the stray object. Repeatedly and uncoordinated. It was a feat of rage and pain. All Marcus could do was stab, even after the purple goatee had gone limp, Marcus didn't stop stabbing until he slid off into the pool of sprinkler water and blood on the floor.

Marcus pulled himself to stand upright, panting softly from the exertion as the broken bottle lodged in his side leaked blood. Of course, there is no light - except for the disco bulbs - in the main section of the club, but Marcus doesn't need light to know he is bleeding.

"Shit." The pain was numbing and the only thing keeping the blood from flooding out was the bottle itself, and Marcus knew this. He is not sure how he knew it, but he does. Just like his bow was familiar to him even though he had never seen it before.

"Fuck." He cursed. His attention shifted to the thing he had used to kill purple goatee. "I'll be damned."

It was one of the twin curved blades he had unintentionally claimed earlier. Marcus had subconsciously thought his fingers coincidentally closed around a stray object. Not in his wildest imaginations had he thought that a curved blade had somehow appeared in his hand.

"Marcus!" Marcus looked up to see Alexander moving towards him with a slight limp and a dangling right arm. He looked away and his eyes fell on the Purple goatee man lying lifeless in the puddle of water and blood.

"I killed him." He mumbled to himself. As though on cue, everything changed to black and blue; like the void of space. And the only color is the two blue flamelike entities; one coming towards him from Alexander's position, the other lying motionless beside him in the black man's position. But the purple goatee man has no blue flame. His soul is gone.

"I killed him."

"Marcus!" Alexander's face appeared in his field of view. "Hey, look at me."

Marcus obliged, his fingers still tightly closed around the hilt of the curved blade, and his left hand placed at the base of the leaking bottle still lodged in him.

"Do you hear the sirens?" He hadn't. He hadn't even noticed that the sprinkler system had stopped working. "That means you have to get out of here, now."

"But...I killed him." Marcus said, the adrenaline surge and the paranormal strength he had had seconds ago, worn off. Allowing the pain and aches of the fight to fully set in.

"You listen to me, Marcus!" Alexander said, "You didn't kill him. You ran out of the club immediately the fire alarms started, and you haven't seen me since. Got it?"

"What are you...?"

"GO!" Alexander yelled, pulling Marcus up from his slurped posture on the booth table and pushing him out regardless of the bottle lodged in him.

"Get to the Manor and don't let anyone but Jeffrey see you like that."

Marcus paused. The sirens are getting louder and his injury is getting unbearable every second. He opened his mouth to protest;

"Listen to me, Marcus, go. Come on!"

He nodded; "hang tight, you won't be going to jail. I promise."

With that, he broke into a run - at least he tried to - and the injury on his side only escalated. He made his way to the backdoor exit; going through the corridor - where the stout man lay motionless on the floor with his face disfigured - navigating the backrooms and busting out into a dark alleyway lit only by the half-moon overhead.

"How the hell am I supposed to get to the Manor like this?" Marcus barely finished the thought when a familiar snout from his right-hand side caught his attention. He turned to only to see a four-eyed furry beast four inches from his face;

"FUC...ahh!" Marcus groaned, bending over slightly to reduce the pain from the sudden fright. "Damn, every single time."

He felt the Fra'r's nose nudge his arm; "well I guess you will be my ride." Marcus said, eyeing the Fra'r with unease. "You can see I'm wounded right? So don't kick me okay?"

As though in understanding, the beast neighed and bent down on its knees to allow Marcus to climb on with relative ease.

"Alright Goat," Marcus said, grabbing onto its mane. "Take us home."

The ride was hectic with six hoofs galloping underneath him. By the time Marcus got to the Manor, the glass bottle had fallen off, and Jeffrey was already waiting at the door. And before Marcus could say a word, the skinny Butler led Marcus into the first room, and without question, got to work on his injury.

In no time, Marcus is sinking into a chaotic world of pain and discomfort.