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Syndel's Spire
Syndel's Spire

Introduction
My texts (78)
My series (10)

PHQ-Nickname:
Syndel

Halfquake:
Mania

Level:
74

Total kills:
19,843,348

Birthday:
00th 0000

Death of... [Pt10]

Mood:neutral
Type:Story
Added:July 15th 2007, 05:44:49
Visits:854
Series:[ Victimisation ]
Rating:Not rated yet.

Description:
I'm terrible at finishing sagas... this should be the second to last chapter in this epic. enjoy.

"Give up and come out - this is your last chance to surrender Bale."
The hall was filled with a heavy dust from the fire fight which had been raging within. In the centre, in a small shrine, lay the sadist. He stirred, slumping against the nearby barrier, checking his revolver for ammo. "One bullet... typical" He whispered to himself. He shuffled into a better position and a splitting pain shot through him. "Ah, yes... I remember... I've been shot." The wound had entered just below his right shoulder, he had heard the crack as it ripped through his flesh and splintered the bone. He could still feel the bullet, lodged somewhere in his body. He breathed deeply and laughed. "First one of you who takes a step towards me gets a bullet between the eyes." The centre of the hall was a circular outcrop. Light filtered down from the glass ceiling above and filled his hiding place. He cursed himself for becoming such an easy target. He thought absently to himself that a normal person in his position, an icon of hate for the world, would probably use this last bullet to kill himself. He figured it's a tribute to his hatred that his only thoughts were to take as many with him as possible. His eyes glanced back over the reinforced glass ceiling, the tons of crushing water situated just metres above. He smiled a grim smile.

***

"I... I understand it now." The assassin closed the book with a snap. The world was not ready to accept the ideals that had spread in the minds of all the worlds sufferers. The slaughter that had covered the world thus far had simply been but a few of the enlightened. In death he was stronger than in life. The worlds were different but the same. A ghost could not create, he could not effect the world but he could experience it. There existed an ethereal copy of everything ever created in the world. People did, literally, put they're heart and soul into things. It was the equivalent of a whole new level of understanding. He had a new found respect for human life, the human race in general. But for one nagging reason he still felt his hatred burning fierce. The world has a huge history of persecuting it's creators, it's artisans, philosophers and free-thinkers. Even now, the stupidity of the masses control the thought of the free. The simple matter of it was that the easiest solution would be to start from scratch. The world has grown to the extent that knowledge cannot be spread. People are influenced from all corners and information becomes so biased it is useless to anyone, corruption spreads and people seek all wealth in either this life or the next. All human action is based on a natural instinctive drive to survive - this includes the wiping out of threats - free thinkers.
The assassin took the life force of a quill, a parchment and a chair. Dipping the quill into the life force of ink and created. He started "I am Edward Galer. This is my legacy." It did not matter to him that the words left the page and filtered into nothingness as he wrote. He had all the time in the world and half the joy was in the writing. After a while a dragon perched on his shoulder and started reading.

***

The victim stumbled through the backdrops, the machinery long since deactivated and left smoking. The sword was working. All he needed was an exit. He was behind it all now, he could see the cameras, recording his suffering. He lashed out at the nearest one, ripping it in two with an easy slice, a token gesture to the fragile but brutal nature of the institute. A door, a window, a hatch - anything to escape this torment. He felt strong, confident. He had survived terrors of which he had never imagined. He may have lost his identity, close to losing his sanity and suffered beyond words but there was no way they could stop him now. The exit was near. He could feel it.

***

"You know there's no escape Bale, give it up. If you don't we have weapons to flush you out of your hole there. You've taken down a lot of good men in defence of your sick, crumbling sadistic fun house. Don't let it claim your life as well." The captain of the squad had seen enough. This man, cowering but metres away from them, responsible for countless deaths in the name of "entertainment" was trapped, hiding in his hole. If it wasn't for his unshakable trust in justice he would go over there himself and kill him with his bare hands. Around him lay his colleagues, his comrades in arms. Good men, fallen for a worthy cause. He would not let him escape.
Suddenly a shot rang out around the hall. "Take cover" the captain shouted. But an immense cracking sound and rush of water filled their ears. The captain glanced around the pillar he was using for cover and saw the torrent of water enter the room. He started to run but it was far too late. The water washed through, enveloping the soldiers in the crushing forces of the maelstrom. Many soldiers were pushed forcibly back, their bones cracking as they hit the hard surfaces of the walls and pillars. The few men who managed to avoid the initial force of the blast soon found themselves trapped in the flooding room, water above and below. Within minutes all were dead. Floating, silently, lay the sadist, a few feet from the centre of the shrine. A wide grin visible on his face.

***

The victim rounded a corner. A slave stood trembling in the centre of it. He levelled the iron sights of his crossbow to the slaves head. "No! Don't shoot me!" He shouted as the victim stood there, armed to the teeth.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't." - Said the victim brutally.
"I'm only a slave... the leader is dead... there are soldiers everywhere - we need to get out of here" The slave rambled.
"Your a slave? Your responsible for the pain caused to people just like me? Why would one like you deserve to live?"
"There's no time!"
"Yes, your time is running out." replied the victim. The slave suddenly panicked and ran in the opposite direction. The victim followed him in his sights, waiting for him to almost reach the corner before fireing the trigger, impaling him with a bolt of sharpened steel, fixing him to the wall permanently. He sagged, the bolt holding him where it had gone through the back of his neck. The victim laughed to himself at the irony - all the death in this place and that had been the first time he had killed a human. He turned the corner still giggling with glee before he came face to face with a window. He glanced out, seeing for the first time the institute in it's full glory, swarming with troops and the majority of it covered with a huge bubble of air and beyond that, tons of water, pressing down on the facility. He shivered involuntarily, his sudden mania gone in an instant. He realised the only escape was to take one of the soldiers ships. He didn't know if he could still trust humans after what he had experianced.

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Total Personal Pages: 220 - Total series: 116 - Total texts: 882
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