Steel Fire

Frederick Rojo stood tall on the top of the bunker and watched the planes approach. He felt old, and indeed he had lived longer than most of his kind did even if there was no way for him to know that. He flinched as the bombs dropped, but knew that they were only meant to keep him in place. A chuckle escaped through clenched teeth as he imagined the pilots being told they were pinning down a small army of highly trained terrorists. The half-empty pistol in his right hand felt light, while blood streamed down his left arm. His other wounds had stopped bleeding. The taste of blood was on his lips when he licked them.

Many of his pursuers had fallen, but each time another took their place. Frederick no longer recognized their faces. He just recognized the fear in their eyes when they looked into his and realized what they’d been sent to hunt. How human the monster must have looked to them. Until now, they had failed, but this entire Realm was against him and he was tired. His muscles ached, his bones had been broken countless times and his skin was covered in so many scars that he could feel it stretch as he moved. It was his time. There was no sadness. He felt victorious.

There was the ever-present sting in his chest, however. Every time his attention was drawn to it, the memory of her eyes forced its way into his mind. He winced as it did once again. This must be what it felt like to be judged unworthy and to care, he always thought. Even after all these years, it hurt. Even after all these years, he didn’t understand why she had rejected him in the end. She had known him better than anyone else. What had she finally seen, that he hadn’t already shown her, that had been the deal-breaker? Laughter rose in his chest, as anger and grief mixed into potent hatred. How he hated this world. How he hated what he was. He didn’t regret a thing he had done though. He was unable to.

A group of armed men and women approached after the dust settled. The woman at the head of the group looked at him intently. He recognized the scars he had inflicted on her, carving out her right eye with a rusty nail. He had laughed while he did it, the joke known only to him.

“I saw how one of my predecessors found the ship that almost carried you and her to the Federation, Friedrich,” she shouted at him over the lifeless wasteland. “I didn’t think you were a real monster until then, but I saw the bones. You must’ve been very hungry.”

The group moved with tactical efficiency around a pile of bodies he had left for them.

“Tell me,” the woman shouted, her voice young and confident, “did you save her for last? What did Maria have to say about your cannibalism?”

“We were stranded and there weren’t enough supplies. It was a matter of survival,” he shouted back. “She hated it.”

The group continued their approach, moving around a second pile of bodies. Frederick observed them from his vantage point, canines glinting in the evening sun.

“It wasn’t really cannibalism though. I am not human.” His voice cracked on the last word. “That is why you hunt me. There will never be a place for me in your world.”

“How did you kill her, Frederick?” the woman shouted back. The march slowed. The others held their weapons at the ready. “Did you make it painless at least? They say you cared for her.”

“I love her,” he whispered to himself. “Which is why you will never find them.”

He raised the pistol and aimed just behind the group, and at the pile of bodies. From this side the cans of explosives he had quickly stashed under them were clearly visible, but the soldiers were looking at him. The humanoid creature from Hel fired three times and the closest soldiers disappeared in a wall of flame. Their remains fell onto the others. Some were screaming.

“Shoot him!” The commander shouted, but their focus was now behind them.

Frederick’s knees nearly buckled when he bound down and started to sprint towards them. He flung the empty pistol at the first of the soldiers to stop him from regaining his focus, and leaped onto the second. His teeth dug deep into the throat and he tore it out in one practiced movement. The first shots were fired, but he’d taken his victims gun and fired back while using the dying body as a shield. He laughed. The wound on his left arm hadn’t stopped bleeding.