slayer_sam (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} slayer_sam) wrote,@ 2008-02-20 00:58:00 |
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Not By a Longshot
The more she killed, the easier it became.
No, scratch that; the more she killed, the more fun it became.
For Samantha Blanchard, the rules of society no longer applied to her. And even if they did, she didn’t care. The fire in her eyes, the darkness that swallowed her soul, was the result of losing everything she held dear in her life; her job at the Las Vegas Police Department, her son Cory … all of it, taken away by some bloodsucking skank with a penchant for sticking her oversized nose in shit that was no business of hers.
And now everyone would pay for Grace’s mistake. Atia taught the Slayer well; broke her free from the prison she’d wrongly been throw into. Fed her, took that rage and that pain and massaged it until it was the perfect medley of strength and unbridled corruption. Every body slain, every ounce of blood ingested … it was not only a step closer to paying back Grace, but also a tribute to the dark goddess who set the Slayer free.
Samantha stood over her latest victim, a co-ed just off the campus of UNLV. Young, blonde … not unlike Samantha herself was at one point. The Slayer found her walking back to her dorm after a night of studying with friends at the library, a beaming smile on her face as she got off the phone with what Samantha assumed was her boyfriend.
The woman knew joy. And if the Slayer had her way, all who found joy would also know pain. To the point of begging for death.
The young woman had begged for death. With every bone Samantha broke, the girl screamed. Begged and pleaded for mercy … it wasn’t until the Slayer tore her right leg completely off that Samantha finally grew tired of her latest pray and snapped her neck in two different places.
It had been a loud death, one sure to attract attention were anyone nearby to hear it. The ramifications were obvious, but the Slayer no longer cared. Let the police come after her; Samantha was infinitely stronger than all of them, and she knew the truth of things. They had guns and badges.
She had preternatural strength, cat-like reflexes, and enough anger to last her three lifetimes.
Samantha licked the girl’s blood from her fingers … rich with innocence. It was almost enough to make the Slayer sick. Five bodies in two nights; Samantha found a new form of patrolling at night, only those she hunted and killed now were still living. Not that the Slayer was beyond killing the occasional vampire, but there was only one leech she wanted turned to dust, and she’d yet to see that one again.
But she would.
“GRACE!!!” the Slayer bellowed, her frayed locks framing her pale face. Samantha wore a tattered white t-shirt, her jeans ripped at the knees and her arms littered with scratches and bruises – the result of the victims foolish enough to try and fight back. The taste of blood still lingered on the Slayer’s tongue, and her eyes, once a magnificent green, were now black as night.
“GRACE!!!!”
No answer, as there had been every night since Atia set Samantha free to exact her revenge. This would not be a quick process; for this, the Slayer would need to exercise patience. But patience was a luxury Samantha no longer had. She lost that the day she lost her son, the day the people she worked for slammed those steel bars shut and closed her off from the world she once protected.
It was the perfect plan, one Samantha was surprised she didn’t catch before. Grace shot Gerald, killing him, before stuffing him in the trunk of Samantha’s car. It was the perfect set-up … the only question was why. Did Grace just get off at the thought of ruining Samantha’s life, or did someone put her up to it?
Was the Cult of Zeus somehow involved? It made sense, not that Samantha cared anymore. She just wanted blood.
“Ease a homeless man’s suffering?” a voice came from behind the Slayer, weak and feeble. Samantha turned her head, just enough to see a disheveled old man, huddled around a fire burning in an old oil barrel, holding out a shaking hand and wearing a months-old white beard. She inhaled sharply, balling her fists as the rage built from within anew.
“Suffering,” the Slayer repeated, finally facing the homeless man full-on. “You know nothing of it.”
The man stared in awe, his eyes wide as fear began to creep into them. Samantha saw this and licked her lips, a wicked grin splaying across her face as she approached methodically, knowing the elderly fellow was too old and weak to truly run away or put up much of a fight.
Grabbing the back of the man’s head, and feeling the grime in her fingers, the Slayer growled. “Huddling up by a fire at night, begging passersby for handouts … this isn’t suffering. It’s pathetic.”
Samantha shoved the man’s face forward, dousing it in the flames he’d been using to warm himself. The Slayer cackled with glee as the man screamed in agony, falling back with the flesh on his face burning. She could smell the charred skin, taking a deep breath to savor the aroma. It was nearly as appetizing as the taste of human flesh, but for the moment, simply watching the old man writhe in pain was plenty.
“Now you know pain,” Samantha barked, barely heard over the last few screams the old man could muster. His writhing slowed, the flames now eating away at muscle and bone, the man’s last breath long passed.
The Slayer frowned. He’d suffered, but not enough. Not as much as some others would.
Not by a longshot.
The more she killed, the easier it became.
No, scratch that; the more she killed, the more fun it became.
For Samantha Blanchard, the rules of society no longer applied to her. And even if they did, she didn’t care. The fire in her eyes, the darkness that swallowed her soul, was the result of losing everything she held dear in her life; her job at the Las Vegas Police Department, her son Cory … all of it, taken away by some bloodsucking skank with a penchant for sticking her oversized nose in shit that was no business of hers.
And now everyone would pay for Grace’s mistake. Atia taught the Slayer well; broke her free from the prison she’d wrongly been throw into. Fed her, took that rage and that pain and massaged it until it was the perfect medley of strength and unbridled corruption. Every body slain, every ounce of blood ingested … it was not only a step closer to paying back Grace, but also a tribute to the dark goddess who set the Slayer free.
Samantha stood over her latest victim, a co-ed just off the campus of UNLV. Young, blonde … not unlike Samantha herself was at one point. The Slayer found her walking back to her dorm after a night of studying with friends at the library, a beaming smile on her face as she got off the phone with what Samantha assumed was her boyfriend.
The woman knew joy. And if the Slayer had her way, all who found joy would also know pain. To the point of begging for death.
The young woman had begged for death. With every bone Samantha broke, the girl screamed. Begged and pleaded for mercy … it wasn’t until the Slayer tore her right leg completely off that Samantha finally grew tired of her latest pray and snapped her neck in two different places.
It had been a loud death, one sure to attract attention were anyone nearby to hear it. The ramifications were obvious, but the Slayer no longer cared. Let the police come after her; Samantha was infinitely stronger than all of them, and she knew the truth of things. They had guns and badges.
She had preternatural strength, cat-like reflexes, and enough anger to last her three lifetimes.
Samantha licked the girl’s blood from her fingers … rich with innocence. It was almost enough to make the Slayer sick. Five bodies in two nights; Samantha found a new form of patrolling at night, only those she hunted and killed now were still living. Not that the Slayer was beyond killing the occasional vampire, but there was only one leech she wanted turned to dust, and she’d yet to see that one again.
But she would.
“GRACE!!!” the Slayer bellowed, her frayed locks framing her pale face. Samantha wore a tattered white t-shirt, her jeans ripped at the knees and her arms littered with scratches and bruises – the result of the victims foolish enough to try and fight back. The taste of blood still lingered on the Slayer’s tongue, and her eyes, once a magnificent green, were now black as night.
“GRACE!!!!”
No answer, as there had been every night since Atia set Samantha free to exact her revenge. This would not be a quick process; for this, the Slayer would need to exercise patience. But patience was a luxury Samantha no longer had. She lost that the day she lost her son, the day the people she worked for slammed those steel bars shut and closed her off from the world she once protected.
It was the perfect plan, one Samantha was surprised she didn’t catch before. Grace shot Gerald, killing him, before stuffing him in the trunk of Samantha’s car. It was the perfect set-up … the only question was why. Did Grace just get off at the thought of ruining Samantha’s life, or did someone put her up to it?
Was the Cult of Zeus somehow involved? It made sense, not that Samantha cared anymore. She just wanted blood.
“Ease a homeless man’s suffering?” a voice came from behind the Slayer, weak and feeble. Samantha turned her head, just enough to see a disheveled old man, huddled around a fire burning in an old oil barrel, holding out a shaking hand and wearing a months-old white beard. She inhaled sharply, balling her fists as the rage built from within anew.
“Suffering,” the Slayer repeated, finally facing the homeless man full-on. “You know nothing of it.”
The man stared in awe, his eyes wide as fear began to creep into them. Samantha saw this and licked her lips, a wicked grin splaying across her face as she approached methodically, knowing the elderly fellow was too old and weak to truly run away or put up much of a fight.
Grabbing the back of the man’s head, and feeling the grime in her fingers, the Slayer growled. “Huddling up by a fire at night, begging passersby for handouts … this isn’t suffering. It’s pathetic.”
Samantha shoved the man’s face forward, dousing it in the flames he’d been using to warm himself. The Slayer cackled with glee as the man screamed in agony, falling back with the flesh on his face burning. She could smell the charred skin, taking a deep breath to savor the aroma. It was nearly as appetizing as the taste of human flesh, but for the moment, simply watching the old man writhe in pain was plenty.
“Now you know pain,” Samantha barked, barely heard over the last few screams the old man could muster. His writhing slowed, the flames now eating away at muscle and bone, the man’s last breath long passed.
The Slayer frowned. He’d suffered, but not enough. Not as much as some others would.
Not by a longshot.