Runaway Devil

The screaming hung thick in the air like a death threat. We had been fighting for far too long. Every single warrior on that battlefield was holding on for dear life. Our bodies were wavering, we were relying on instincts alone. Our senses gave out long ago, and we ran purely on blood lust and rage.

I couldn't tell the difference between blood, tears, sweat, shit, piss, or rain. It didn't matter at that point. We had one objective. Nothing else mattered. Kill them. Kill anything that moved. Don't stop, keep moving forward, push harder.

My entire body felt like a raw pile of pulsing muscle. Heat surrounded me and it felt like I was drowning in a pool of fire. Vague shadows and forms crossed my path. Each and every one of them felt my blade, their blood-stained my weapons, my skin, my clothes.

Everyone else had fallen behind. Their bodies and minds were quitting on them. They couldn't do it. They didn't have what it took. They were weak. The thought of weakness further enraged me. My battle cry broke through the deafening noise of war. I vaulted over enemy lines, propelling myself headfirst into the fray. I used my weapons, my horns, my talons, my goddamn teeth.

Dusty followed me without hesitation. We were the Elites for a reason. We did not hesitate, we did not stop, and we did not fail. When it was all over, he'd be there with me, standing among the bodies.

There were piles and piles of them, strewn all over the battlefield. I could taste them in my mouth. The sky, tinted with the colors of war, opened upon us. It was as if there was a gash in its underbelly. It rained warm, thick blood, soaking us to the bone. Baptism by blood. I looked to Dusty, numb with the aftermath of a long battle. He was already staring at me, his eyes dull and hard. He looked shaky on his feet. He was the equivalent of a mountain, consistent, ever-stable. But at that moment, as his eyes rolled in his skull, my heart stuttered. Only Dusty could do that, only he could make me pause.

I lunged for him as he fell, sinking to my knees with him in my arms. I quickly lost feeling in my legs, he was by far the heaviest of the Elites. "Dusty." My voice was far from me, muffled and quiet. He stared up at me, his strength fading from his eyes. "Dusty." I couldn't say anything else. His name was all my mind could muster. "Dusty."

His face was ragged, tired and, weak. It broke my heart. It was the look of a dying man.

It pulled and twisted into a sneer. He had never looked at me like that, ever. My heart hammered in my chest.

His expression sank into my mind, and spread down my spine, making my sigil throb. He reached up and rested his palm on my chest, just above my heart. It slammed against my ribs, demanding to be let free. As if it would rather be in his hands than in my body. He growled and reached into my chest cavity. My eyes watered and my lungs seized. All of the surrounding muscles tensed against the intruding force, but his fingers pierced through them. My body jerked as he punched through my ribs. My blood gushed from my chest, spilling my life over him.

He wrapped his fist around my heart, baring his teeth with ferocity. The burning intensified, spreading through my whole body. I couldn't scream, I couldn't move, I couldn't look away. I watched my body crumble, unable to do anything. The creeping shadow of helplessness gripped my mind.

He was focused on my face, blood running down his arm. My blood. All over him. With one final pull, my heart was in his hands. A small, weak, squeaking noise came from my throat. Then silence. We sat, frozen in time, him clutching my heart in his unforgiving hands. And me, kneeling with an empty chest, like a broken doll.

I jackknifed up in bed, covered in sweat, my lungs burning. My eyes were wide, so wide it felt like they could have fallen out of their sockets. My mouth felt full and heavy. I started salivating, and my intestines rolled. I threw the blanket off me and dove for the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet before my stomach turned itself inside out.

I panted like an animal above the toilet bowl, my breath wafting the acrid smell back up to me. I rested my hand on the lever, letting the weight bring it down and flush. I braced my knuckles on the floor beside my knees, willing my head back down to my shoulders. I couldn't feel my lips and cold sweat covered my neck. I closed my eyes, my head swimming. I shakily got up, grabbing the sink's edge to steady myself. I would have fallen on my ass if Balan wasn't leaning against my leg, supporting me. I rinsed my mouth, spitting into the sink repeatedly. I splashed water over my cold skin. The towel was soft against my eyelids. I took a deep, shaky breath and opened my eyes, facing myself in the mirror.

My skin looked sickly pale, and sticky with cold sweats. My shaking increased, almost to full tremors. My eyes, rimmed with red, teared up. I leaned forward and watched the tears recede at my will. I could still hear the snapping of ligaments, the wet, sucking shloop of my heart being ripped out. I sneered at my weakness. I took a deep, shaky breath and ran my palm over Balan's head. An overwhelming sense of shame and guilt gnawed at my heart, which was indeed still caged behind my ribs.

I started the shower, letting the steam fill the small room, and the heat sink into my skin. I didn't know how long I sat on the floor, eyes closed, trying not to think. I willed the searing water to cleanse my mind, lighten the burden.

“Mornin’” Issac mumbled as he sat heavily on the stool at the kitchen island. The coffee had just finished, permeating the brisk kitchen air.

"Morning," I poured myself a cup, turning and leaning against the counter. I had been up since two earlier that morning. I could feel the bags under my eyes, but the warmth of the coffee made it tolerable. Issac's eyes, on the other hand, were slipping closed, his glasses inching down his nose. "Couch comfortable?"

He slowly shook his head and groaned. "How's your head?" He rested his palms against his closed eyes and groaned again. Some of the others were slowly filtering out their rooms, shuffling in their pajamas. Ben's eyes remained closed as he made his way around his kitchen, getting himself a cup of coffee and grabbing some aspirin. I downed the rest of mine and stretched. My body felt stiff and my headache hadn't let up at all. It felt like ice picks were jabbing around behind my eye sockets. I grabbed my jacket and walked towards the back door. Balan, outside, I whispered mentally through the mind link. Some thumping sounded from above, and Balan appeared at the top of the stairs.

It was a chilly morning. The air felt too fresh in my lungs, it was sharp and uncomfortable. Balan rubbed his head and body against my leg as he walked past, going to hunt for his breakfast.

Lighting a cigarette, I sat tiredly with my coffee. I had gotten some inkings since being topside, otherwise known as the human realm. Soldiers rarely had the time to get inked, the only exception was our sigil. It sealed us with our fellow warriors in our battalion. Dusty and I had the same marking, same with everyone else in Balan's Elites. But the human world was slow, lazy. I had the time to get more, I admired one on my thigh, Stitch had done it. I lovingly brushed my fingers over the intricate line-work. I always got inkings away from my battle scars. Tattoos, as humans called them, did not meld well with scar tissue.

I waited while Balan filled his belly, most likely with a young buck. I raised a brow and watched as he smugly sauntered back to me. He sat heavily and lazily, lounging and waiting. He rested his head on my arm, bumping my mug. "Hey, if you spill this coffee I’ll be pissed.” He whined deeply and nuzzled my inner elbow. I chuckled with a tired smile and set my mug down. I rested my forehead on his and let him snuggle into my arms.

I took a deep drag from my cigarette and finished it. Putting out the small glow on the pavement, I flicked the butt onto the woods. "I grow tired of this world. I don't like it here, it is trying my patience." Balan listened as I silently spoke to him. I could feel the same in him. He was not meant to be in this climate, with such little sustenance. He was bred to be taking in entire boars daily, he was made to be a war hound. Like me. And neither of us were doing what we were engineered to do.

I did not know how long it would be before we would start to slow down. Until we got lazy and fat. It felt selfish to not be serving alongside my battalion.

Or whatever's left of them. The thought was unexpected. It was a thought that I had refused to entertain. I could just barely handle the idea of some of them dying because of me, anything more was too much. We were a team. The Elites were a smaller group than the others. We were a family, a tight-knit unit.

A deeply unsettling feeling hunkered down in my stomach. I closed my eyes and grasped Balan's scruff. He sat stoically, feeling the same dis-ease.

"Hey Kara," Jerry stuck his head out the sliding door and gestured for me to come back in. "We're heading out soon." I nodded and grabbed my mug of now cold coffee. Balan's claws clicking on the nicely finished hardwood floors announced our arrival. I followed them out to their car, not paying attention to anything they were saying.

I sometimes forgot why I put myself through the tedious motions of human life. Why did I have to go to school? Why did I need to keep my wings away? Why does Balan have to look like a human realm dog, not his natural form? I used to get frustrated with these necessities, the need to hide. It was to blend in. I looked like an eighteen or nineteen-year-old human, at least I did to them. My true form is a bit much for human eyes or even human understanding. Demon's true forms were humanoid, but rarely completely human-looking. Many of us were combinations of different beasts, like a chimera. Dusty, from the waist down, had to likeness of a bull. And my true form had heavy, black horns, and a lion's tail. And that's not including my talons or fangs.

I looked like a warrior, I was feared. I had scars all over my body, but for some reason, only some of them translated when I traveled topside. The deep, angry ones were still there, although they were paper thin and pink.

A sudden, intense longing for my true form hit me square in the chest. The boys were messing around, as they did while in each other's company, while I stared out the window, having a silent conflict. My real body was strong, powerful, it was mine. I was fast, with thick muscle lining my bones. I missed the feeling of my weapons in my calloused hands. I even missed my real scars.

I knew why I had to leave Hell, I knew why I had to give up being a warrior. But I'll be damned if it wasn't in my blood. I may have temporarily adapted to this world, to being a civilian. That doesn't mean I will ever truly be anything but a warrior. I couldn't lie to myself or Balan. We were made for war, we were made to rip through flesh, tear apart living creatures. It made my bones itch, having to hold myself back. The longer I had been in the human realm the more I felt misplaced, the acutely aware I became of my position. A demon on the run, in hiding, surrounded by prey, but not allowed to kill it.

I pet Balan's head and sneered to myself, unnoticed by the world.