Eye of a Boy: Blood Wars

Robert Cousins was an ordinary, adolescent pupil at St. Joseph's High School until he encountered a malevolent Hell-hound on a mission to slaughter two innocent men. Or so he thought. With him and his friend's gaining powers by the day, will he be able to scrape a victory at the eleventh hour?

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1. Prologue

 

As he strode through the stereotypical Liverpool winter scene, Gamma could not help considering how inferior every passing human was. To his left, a tanned woman in her fluffy pyjamas was complaining about her unbranded handbag. On the other side, a lean man was proposing a business proposition to his boss on the phone. A homeless cripple was cradling himself as to conserve body heat as the falling snow pelted him. Beside him, a teenager was skating on the transparent, black ice. Humans scurried in and out of shops, grasping in their hands bags full to the prim with Christmas delicacies. 

          To any ordinary onlooker, Gamma would have been just another hooded stranger roaming the streets, begging for trouble. The cryptic man always ensured that every inch of his short, squat body was covered in casual attire. Due to looming winter, this did not influence his heat in any way. All that could be seen, from any vantage point, was masked darkness.

          Swiftly, he rounded off the street before entering an eerie back alleyway. Weak vagrants were slumped against the derelict wall, sipping vodka continuously. A dishevelled, lanky man waded over to a bin in which he began to scour for the remnants of discarded waste. Gamma could not resist sneering at the pointless efforts of struggling Homo sapiens. Despite what they may say in religious books, humans would only protect themselves - even if it meant steeping over rotting bodies to do so. 

          The straggler, who had been scouring through the dustbins, swivelled around to face Gamma.

“You look like a decent man,” he pleaded, glistening tears trickling down his sheer, bony face. “Could you spare change for a poor person like me?”

          Without uttering a single word, Gamma raised his hand towards the man’s spindly throat. Then, with no hesitation required, he wrenched the throat backwards, an echoing crack signalling the victim's untimely demise. His body fell limp as he took his last breath. All of the crimson gathered in his cheeks began to drain away.

“Believe me,” snarled three voices in unison, emitting from Gamma’s hood. “You have just been offered a way out. Not all humanssss will gain that pleasure.”

          Ceremoniously, Gamma withdrew his hood, to reveal three, writhing, serpentine heads snarling at the deceased victim. Each one of them was identical, bar a tattoo engraved into the middle one’s forehead. It depicted Heracles being slaughtered by the Lernaen Hydra. The snakes were a sickly shade of lime. Piercing fangs protruded from the gaping mouths of the serpents, gnarled in a peculiar fashion. 

          The pitiful, remaining homeless watched on, flabbergasted by the revelation. There was an unspoken code on the street – when one man falls, two men must defend his honour. Yet, when a humanoid Hydra arrives, threatening imminent death, all chivalry was abandoned for a meagre attempt to scarper away from the battle scene.

“Yessss,” victoriously hissed Gamma, a grin flourishing upon every one of his lips. “Run away like the cowardssss all homo-sssapienssss are!”

          For a few moments, there was an uneasy silence. Then, Gamma sensed that someone had interrupted his haven. 

“Keep you’re hair on!” a feminine voice, with a Liverpool twang, came from behind him. “All that dictator rubbish is so twenty years ago. I mean, like, when you were busy killing these humans willy-nilly, I was catching up on the TV! You really need to chillax.”

          Revolving to face the speaker, Gamma came face to face with the alluring Sigma, who’s human-like appearance entitled her the freedom to not wear layers of clothing just to blend in with the crowd. Silky, auburn hair trailed down her flawless face. Yet, if you delved deeper, past the regular features, you would be able to see her glistening, bullion eyes boring into your soul.

“Ssssigma,” greeted Gamma, a flourishing grin upon each of his faces. “Ssso good to sssee you once more. I do believe that the last time we met wassss Dublin ’09?”

“Who could forget Dublin ’09?” cackled Sigma. “Anyway, I doubt that the big guy wants us here for a catch up and glance at the photo book. ‘R you coming or not?”

          Briskly, she began to storm off, leaving Gamma in her tracks. Reluctantly, Gamma slithered behind her, attempting vigorously to maintain his two-legged posture. His superiors’ had declared that if he acted more humanoid, he would not be portrayed as a feral beast with no sense of intelligence. Yet, despite his oath, Gamma planned to resort to his four-legged stride as soon as the humans were annihilated.

They travelled through various back alleyways which housed no people.. Every so often they would take a diversion so to befuddle any pursuers.

          Gamma did not catch up with his old flame until they arrived at a discreet passage to a desolate, subterranean storage facility. Twenty years ago, when the sinister organisation known as the Trinity had founded the sub team known as the Armageddon, they had bought out the previous owners of the resource so  any of their operatives could gain access to confidential information and illegal weaponry.

“God,” sniggered Sigma sinisterly. ”It’s like a trip down memory lane today, ain't it.”

          Two enthralled to ask, Gamma swiftly advanced upon the sealed juniper door. If either the Trinity or the Armageddon had felt need to beckon him from his covert operation in the Middle East, something major was a foot. Even though the group was one of the best, there were other organisations for hire for the grunt work. 

“Sssso,” the words slithered off Gamma’s flickering tongue. “Do we jussst parade in, brandisssshing weapons or shall we adapt a more calm demeanour for our entrance?”

          Sigma considered this for a moment. The last thing they needed was an ambush from their acquaintances that would only lead in a vicious bloodbath.

“How about we shout ‘open sesame’ so the world can hear?” snarled Sigma caustically. “Just do it?”

          Stormily, she moped up to the door and pushed it outwards in a single sweep. In awe at her suicidal bravery, Gamma trailed behind her as they entered the warehouse that had housed their organisation upon countless occasions. In the centre rested a beautifully furnished oak table that was the primary meeting area. Eroding skulls hung from the gravely ceiling, depicting a macabre scene.     

          Already there were four mercenaries waiting impatiently. One of them, the cryptic, humanoid automaton known as Delta was rewiring his hand continuously. He was infamous for his distinct lack of empathy; his circuitry entitled that he was void of emotions so he could be the ultimate killing machine. Literally.

          Beside him paced the infuriated Iota, a cigarette hanging out of his curled lips. Baggy trousers allowed passers by to ignore the fact that beneath his clothing was two goat’s legs. When Iota got angry, which was frequently, his contorted hooves could pack a punch…err, kick!

          The laid back Kappa was relaxing upon the centrepiece table, her rounded, bald head reflecting the room’s single lamp’s light. Seeping out of her skin was entrancing feathers that stuck together to form angelic wings. Out of the group’s entirety, she was the only one who even vaguely represented a decent person.

          The forth member, Epsilon, was confined to a tightened cage in the room’s shadows. Only a portcullis stood between the rest of the group and imminent death. The only signs that anything remotely alive resided there was that there was routine, feral snarls emitting from that direction.

“Season’s greeting’s my friends,” imitated Sigma, insulting the human’s pitiful celebrations.

“You should know by now,” Iota sneered grimly. “That we are not friends – we are necessary conspirators!”

“Tut tut,” berated Sigma repeatedly as she advanced upon him. Stop being a naughty little boy?”

          Aggravated by the condescending tone, Iota leapt at Sigma, teeth bared. Alarmed, Delta and Kappa attempted foolishly to stop him. Yet nothing could stop the satyr once his name had been dishonoured. He dug his elbow into Kappa’s guts, causing her to stumble backwards. This alerted Delta to the threat. But that was not enough.

          Iota delved into his trouser pocket before retrieving a 10mm pistol equipped with soothing tranquillisers and the odd bullet that not even a Kevlar plate could stop. It was part of the fun for the psychotic satyr; not knowing whether the next shot would blow his opponent to oblivion or will it send them to la la land. The later bullet erupted out of the barrel. An earth-shattering roar coincided with it to complete the package. 

          Yet, no human hunk of metal could seriously impair Delta. Constructed from metals unknown to man, he was virtually indestructible. In his blinded fury, Iota had forgotten his acquaintance’s peculiar habit to escape from conflict unscathed. Of course, by the time Iota had recalled this mandatory point, Delta had already raised his hand for the killing blow. As far as he programming was concerned, unnecessary conflict was intolerable and had to be stopped.

“It would be inadvisable to do that,” advised a pompous voice from the gaping doorway. “We need every member of this organisation for the upcoming feud.”

          Swivelling around, Gamma came face to face with the Armageddon’s aristocratic commander, Alpha. Upon his curved head perched a looming top hat. A wry sneer was curled upon his faded lips. Trimmed eyebrows rested upon his eyelids. He wore woven attire, equipped with precious jade and chrome.

          Beside him waded his muscular bodyguard, Zeta. Cornucopia shaped horns protruded from his square head. Scraggly hair emitted out of every inch of his body. A crimson sash hung loosely over his body – every inch of it equipped with an array of weapons.

          Despite his lack of emotions, Delta knew to step away from the quivering Iota - who was shaken at his brush with death - at his master’s arrival. It was five years ago since Alpha had commanded an anonymous scientist to construct the atrocity now known as Delta. Apparently, his creator had not been seen since the day of Delta’s abnormal birth. 

“That’s right,” Alpha berated sinisterly. “Now, I would like to forgive and forget for that revelation. We have more important, formal issues to discuss. Sit!”

          Tension already visible in the air, every member of the infamous Armageddon lounged upon the available chairs yet still eyed each other conspicuously. Only Alpha seemed even completely relaxed.

“Let’s go straight to formalities,” declared Alpha. “Everyone agree? Okay. We lost Psi two weeks ago whilst she was on an expedition to the Amazon Mermaid tribe. Unfortunately, he crossed paths with a temperamental Kraken and she… well, let’s just say that the serpent was satisfied with its meal that night.”

          Sigma and Iota winced at the mere thought of their fallen comrade being served to a beast with a rounded apple embedded in the gaping mouth of her stuffed body.

“In other news,” continued Alpha, not at all phased by any of the sullen tales. “”Omicron has finally managed to make contact with the Trinity’s leader. Via this bond, we might be able to find that cold-blooded traitor who obliterated our organisation.”

          A grin was formed on each of the Armageddon’s faces. Each of them had a voracious need to see a stake go through their former alley’s heart.

“And to help us react revenge...” Alpha was not yet finished. “I have found a source of information who could prove to be quite informative!”

          Uttering a mystical chant, Alpha raised his palm so that every member of the Armageddon could see. Dancing on his hand was the image of a Cyclops and a Skeleton duelling a ravenous, three-headed Hellhound. Everyone marvelled at the strength that the fighters both boasted for their age – they could only be juveniles judging from their size.

“I sent this mutt,” this was the first time that Alpha had ever showed emotion – however bad situations had gotten. “ To take out an informative of the traitor. These two children got in the way. Me first reaction was to recruit them for our cause. Yet, all pretences must be dropped with these children. They put a stop to my plans. Kill them for me!”

          With that fatal comment, he headed directly for the exit. All of the Armageddon was astounded by their task – none of them had purposely slain a child. Besides for during Dublin '09! Zeta trundled behind his master, a contorted snarl upon his thin lips. Not even Zeta liked the self-proclaimed dictator.

“Oh,” Alpha paused melodramatically by the exit. “About the Cyclops; I want his head delivered to me.”

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