Unholy Confessions (16+)

Metal_Lion

I Am The Captain
WARNING: OVER 18 ONLY FIC!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Chapter 1: Blood letting

("Unholy Confessions" by Avenged Sevenfold plays as opening theme)

I pull my trench coat closer to my, feeling the slight warmth it radiates flow through me. I hear the faint heartbeat, dull, sluggish, and unafraid. From my perch I look up and across; it's coming from a few buildings up, a littered alley of depravity. Pulling the collar around me again, I leap; black against the indigo sky above me, a shadow against the blackness below.

I perch on the edge of the roof, watching silently, hearing the dull thump of it's heart beating as it walks a little faster; it senses the danger the alley, not me, but the normal dangers; thugs, muggers, rapists. In this city, they all flock like locusts to crops. I'll be damned if there's still a pure, untainted soul that wanders this city.

They surround it and the heartbeats pick up slowly; it knows it's been spotted. As they shout at it and push it about, it trembles and cries, a little high-pitched scream escaping into the void of the night. There's my cue.

I jump down from my viewpoint, silent and slowly; they hardly notice me; black on even more black. I break one of their necks, the snap ringing out sickeningly, satisfyingly. Their prey screams in fright even more, trying to move away, its heartbeat skyrockets, the adrenaline flowing freely; they've forgotten it, converging onto me. Talk about chasing shadows.

I smash a gauntlet onto one of the thug's heads, the crack splitting through the night. The other thugs, a little afraid and heartbeats soaring, try to slow their attacks, but I jump out like the bogeyman, dragging one into the shadows of the alley. I pick them off one by one, the fear spreading infectiously through them. The last one decides to get smart and use their prey as a hostage. Big mistake.

"Stay back, whatever you are!" he threatens, holding his hostage by its throat; the heartbeat is constant and sharp, threatening to rupture. "I mean it!"

I walk from the shadows I love and face what little light there is given from the moon. Both hostage and thug gasp as they see the bogeyman that I am.

"W-w-what are you, the friggin' Batman?!" he yells in disbelief, his grip slipping slightly on his prey's neck.

"Wrong."

I break his hand in three places, each snapping sound a euphoric sensation. Well, at least I think I broke it in three places. All I know is he's screaming and screaming, clutching his limp hand while the prey's heartbeat fills my ears. It is deafening. The screaming and the heartbeats. He runs off, hopefully to tell his mates how he met the bogeyman, or Batman. Christ, the Batman?! Do I have pointy ears and a cape?!?

His hostage, its heartbeat slowing slightly, adrenaline still flowing through the arteries, looks at me in a relief, mostly fear.

"T-thanks fo-"

"Save it." I cut it off brashly, my back turned to it.

I stand there and let its' heartbeat rise a little from the tension.

"What…what are you?"

Its heartbeat fibrillates as I sink my fangs into the fresh and juicy arteries in its neck, the blood pumping forcefully and freely with each sip into my mouth. Its heartbeats flatlines and I know I can feast without the screams; God, I hate it when they scream; I used to like it but, well, now it's just annoying. You hear one scream you've heard 'em all. Blood runs slick through my fingers and down the corpse, I lap up as much as I can stomach, no point in wasting a perfectly pure and untainted meal; no disease in it's crimson life.

I drop the corpse to the floor, a dull thud resonating in the alley. I look around before I decide I had better hide this one; not that many people would care if they found it; they'd chalk it up to the gangs of thugs and rapists that prey on Goth City.

"Another day, another demise."

***
"…the mayor commented on the growing number of violent murders…"

"…body of nineteen year old Nancy Callahan was found dumped…"

"…gun crime is on the up and the city's jails cannot cope…"

"…I vow to put these monsters behind bars…"

"…honour killing of…"

"…found slumped with his wrists slit…"

"…and today the weather will be the usual cold and grey…"

It makes me laugh. All this misery and in between you have some fat bimbo, false smile plastered on her fake tanned face, telling us the trivial thing of what the weather will be like today; it's always cold and grey, just how I like it. Even the usual newscasters smile as they talk of how many people were murdered or found dead the night before, while the evening news casts tell us how many have died after the morning news. It's a wonder this place isn't a ghost town.

But like I've said before, this place breeds violence; thugs kill the innocent until it's thugs killing fellow thugs, with new ones coming to this infested boil everyday to make up for those that leave it dead. No one leaves this place alive…well in one piece.

I turn off the TV and think about some sleep; the sun creeps up through the blinds so I close them and go to bed the wrong way around, laying my head where my feet should be. Why, I don't know, all I know is my head canes like hell if I don't sleep this way. At least I don't sleep fully upside down; that might actually kill me; not to mention the impracticality of it; if someone barged in they'd definitely have to die; this way they just think I'm some idiot Goth kid.

As noon approaches, I decide I'd better show my face. I get up and go to the bathroom, not bothering to glance in the mirror, what's the point if my reflection's always fuzzy? I can barely remember what I look like, not that I care. From what I can remember, I have long brown hair, which I chemically straighten in long downward strands; dark brown or green eyes, I can't really remember. There's a silver ring piercing on the right side of my bottom lip; I remember how badass I felt when I had it first done.

I put on my usual wardrobe; black sleeveless tee shirt, black jeans that aren't too baggy or too tight (I thought about leather trousers once, Keanu Reeves wore some cool ones in some Shakespeare movie adaptation, but decided it was a bad idea after watching an episode of Friends); then the jewellery: a dog collar of studs on a wire close around my neck, with a loose necklace of long, metal spike around my neck, and a wrist strap with metal studs, with a wrist band on the other arm. Finally I strap on my boots, adding about an extra foot onto my five foot eleven frame; they're black with beefy buckles, metal studs on the front of the sole. I grab my keys and sling my bag around me after putting on my long leather trench coat, my civilian one, not the other one. It hasn't got as many buckles and straps, not to mention it isn't as cool looking but it's not like anyone knows what I do with my spare time. I run back in and grab my dark shades; cannot go anywhere without these!

I waltz into the main hall, heading for my biology class; as you've probably guessed, anatomy is a great thing to study, helps with my extra curricular activities. I remove my black trench coat and change it for my customised med coat; dyed black with flecks of red. I enter the lab and check the progress of decay on my samples I'm studying. The stench is rancid but I manage to note the progress; should be able to put it to good use soon. After that, I'm out and taking notes at the lecture I'm ten minutes late for. Skeevs doesn't even acknowledge my tardiness or the fact that I'm here; gave up on me a long time ago even if he's surprised at my skills in this class. If he only knew.

After I breeze out of the lecture, I go to the art hall and whip out my sketch book, putting onto paper my thoughts of yesterday. I capture the alley perfectly, substituting myself for one of the thugs I killed. No one comments on my work; I know they think I've got some gift with detail, but the stuff I sketch and paint puts them off. No matter what the subject, I manage to somehow to make it suit my own style of twisted reality. My classes finish for the day and I rush back home for some sleep; big night tonight.

As I walk through town towards my apartment, I feel the stares of the people I pass, my trench coat whipping around me in the breeze. I've grown used to the stares and looks of horror; I like standing out, brandishing the Goth look in their faces. What really pisses me off though is that half of them think I'm some wannabe Emo kid.

Emo's, the plague of the earth with their crappy, angst filled **** and razor blade suicide threats. If you're gonna preach about suicide and how your life's so ****, go the **** ahead and end it, one less Emo to have to listen to bitching about how their life is a 'black abyss'.

God, I hate them and their music.

***
I'm out with someone who I would call my friend, if she weren't such a slaggy *****. She's five foot five, with a body most guys drool over, the fact she's a Goth somehow makes her more appealing but you wouldn't hear them ever admit that. Us Goth's are a minority, ever since the invasion of the Emo's, and this college is Jock in the majority. She flicks her red hair in my direction and I push her forcefully away from me; she smiles and I manage to cool down a bit, she's just messing about. This is a rare moment when I'm just content with doing sweet **** all. The hunger hasn't come yet, but it will soon. I've thought about maybe sampling a bit of her, don't think she'd mind; she'd probably welcome it, probably try a bit of my blood as well. But there's no telling what diseases she may carry, my instinct powers aren't always that good.

"So you gonna take me home ?" she asks mischievously.

"No, you're a big girl Lexi, you'll be alright." I say, taking off my shades as the sun finally vanishes.

"What, in this city? Who are you kiddin'?!" she laughs. "You think you'll be able to live if I get killed by some random wanker?"

I pity any guy who tries it on with you, let alone if they tried to kill you, I think to myself.

"Fine," I give in. "Let's go Ms A'Cerate."

"How gallant of you."

I take her home, not that I need to, she'd kill anyone who tried to hurt her; Lexi comes off as all girly, but underneath the Goth hardbody, she's a black widow. You see all these vampire seductresses in films, well that's her. Except she isn't the real deal.

After I drop her home, I walk about; night is my time to live properly. I notice someone shuffling about the streets, my hearing picking up his heartbeat from all the others out there. It's odd, my senses seem to subconsciously pick my meals for me, but they've never picked up one like him before. I begin stalking him, the heartbeat getting clearer the closer I get to my prey. He stops in an old crack den, shivering and his breath cold and frosty. His heartbeat is fluctuating, even though I'm pretty sure he doesn't know I'm here, it's odd. He must be on some sort of drugs; E or MDMA, I dunno, drugs were never really my area of expertise. I jump through the rafter, snapping through the broken wooden floorboards of the first floor and to him on the ground floor. His heartbeat rises incredibly as he whirls around to see me. He's pale and white, either from the drugs or my entrance. He doesn't recognise me 'cuz I'm not in costume; we can soon change that. I notice his hand that I broke is in a giant white cast, and is held up by a sling. He sees me looking and a faint glimmer of recognisation enters his dim eyes.

I uncover my left wrist and show him my black sweatband. It has a purple and mauve tribal 'V' design on it.

"Darkness cover me."

My clothes are replaced with a huge, tightly fitting trench coat; black with purple interior and spiked shoulder pads and bottom hem; two buckles to fasten it together. The collar whips around my head as the helmet clamps around my skull. I get metal knee guards with purple centre caps; my boots get harder and the spikes migrate up them to replace the buckles; the forearms of my trench coat are encased with black gauntlets, purple strips running horizontally along them with 3 spikes jutting out on each gauntlet. All this in a flicker of darkness.

The thug almost wets himself, a sliver of piss stench in the air. I almost burst out laughing; the fear is like a drug to me. He finally gets the balls to run, yelling for anybody, somebody. I walk the path he runs, up the stairs and past the empty and dilapidated rooms; the stench of death and decay enhancing the shadows and my powers. He runs frantically, his heartbeat too high and fast for him to be bale to cope for long. He runs into a room and onto the balcony. The only escape I either the ground below or through me.

"Y-Y-You!!!" he yells terrified.

"Y-Y-You!" I mimic him, enjoying the fear he radiates.

"G-G-Get away from me b-b-batm-!"

I yank him up by his collarbone, as he screams in agony, feeling my sharp claws into the soft flesh ands scrape along the bone.

"Do you know who the hell I am?" I yell at him, my voice booming and roaring against the onset of a storm. "I'm the goddamn Vampire Ranger!"

"P-Please don't kill me! R-Ranger's don't kill! You're good guys!!"

"Who said anything about me being good?"

He wets himself. I look down and cackle as he laughs nervously before crying out as I scrape his collarbone again. I reach down with my free hand and yank with all my strength.

He howls, the agonising scream rising higher and higher as I almost rip his balls off; an alternative way to bleed to death fast. I stop and let him catch his breath; his heart is about to give out, so I yank again, harder. His heart ruptures and his balls come off, blood pouring out in torrents. It's diseased, hepatitis B I think, but I'm not gonna find out. For some reason my instincts singled him out, but not to feed upon. I try and think of it as one of my ambivalent acts, a good deed in a city so corrupt; but even my good deeds are as bad as my evil ones. I don't dwell on it, no one will care.

And he was scum anyway.

("I bleed for no one" by A Fall from Tragedy plays as ending theme)
 

Metal_Lion

I Am The Captain
Chapter 2: Freaks of the night

("Unholy Confessions" by Avenged Sevenfold plays as opening theme)

I'm eating some meat…from a tasty meal last night; it's ripe and full of blood that's been kept frozen for a few days. I'm distracted from my sandwich by a feeling of someone entering my space.

"Hey Jizzy, wanna bit?"

She looks at my sandwich and looks a bit disturbed; I say a bit because she's normally used to me eating weird bits of food that most people would avoid. But now she's more disturbed than usual. I smile while holding the meat sandwich out to her with a gloved hand.

"Don't call me that." is all she says as she goes back out.

I had a meal like her last night, blonde and petit, with nice brown eyes, big tits. Shame I had to ruin them. Her blood was sweet and sugary, obviously was hyperactive. But it was an 'it', whereas Julia Carpenter is a very attractive girl. I've often wondered what her blood would taste like: would is be rich and buttery, hot and salty, or sugary like that tasty meal last night? As for why I call her 'Jizzy', I'll let you figure that one out yourself.

***
I'm out at night as usual, the hunger calling me again. Its' heartbeat picks up as I walk towards it from behind; the stench of fear wafting towards my nostrils. It tries to move but the fear has immobilised it so I take my sweet time making my way towards it. I grab its neck quickly, my pale skin touching the warmth flowing from its juicy neck. I feel electrified as I sink my fangs into the plentiful arteries; the muffled intake of breath shows that it's still alive; I like to mix up my eating habits. As I suck a little noisily for more of the blood, a smuck hoping for some action wanders stupidly into my path.

"Hey man, lemme in on da action." He says, words slurred and his odour stinking of alcohol. He wants a gangbang, he ain't getting' one.

"**** off!" I growl, blood and spittle dripping from my cheeks and the corners of my mouth while my meal hyperventilates.

"Ah come on man, don't be greedy, I'll pay."

He holds out his wallet and looks at my shadow figure.

"How much?" he asks.

I grab his money and break his neck in one swift action, the snap muffled by the scarf I use to do the deed. I pick up my meal and continue, thinking I've got means of covering this up. Another figure blots out what little moonlight there is and I drop the meal and growl in frustration.

"Can't a fella do his business in private in this city anymore?" I mumble under my breath.

I look at the figure, hoping its not another drunkard, I can only make the cover story convincing up to a point.

Its not human, that's the first thing my senses tell me; its alive, just, but it's not human. Oh great, maybe I finally have some nemesis and these are the first of the shock troops or a monster; after all, that's why rangers exist. I can hear the clinking and whirring of machinery, is it cybernetic or something, like in Terminator? I focus and my night vision increases; yep, it's cybernetic alright.

It's green, I think, with leathery skin and a metal right arm or glove; same kinda thing on the right leg except it's a big metal boot, and I think there's something behind it; it keeps moving side to side. Its' face is something not even a mother could ever love; metallic helmet with a gash for eye holes, webbed ears that stick out. Sheesh, talk about ugly. But I wonder what's more ugly, that, or whatever's underneath the metal helmet.

"Can I help you, freak?"

"Guragh!"

Great, a foreign freak.

"****-the-hell-off!" I say slowly but clearly. My meal's gotten pale and cold, the blood will be nothing but **** by now, not to mention it's all over the alley floor.

I turn to head back home, my belly half full, when I'm hit from behind; whatever the freak had behind it hit me. Big mistake.

"Darkness cover me." I whisper, rising as I morph. "You want some *****?"

It stand perfectly still as I approach, lashing out with the thing behind it as I draw closer. Something sharp almost pierces my trench coat and I get a little nervous. Nothing normally even scratches the coat. I use my night vision a little more and I see what the **** keeps knocking me down; a tail, thick and robotic, looks like a scorpion's tail.

"Impaler." I whisper, summoning my ranger weapon; corny as it is, it's just some fancy sword that cuts through most things. How the hell it comes and disappears I don't know, but I frankly don't give a ****, just as long as it comes when I need it.

As the tail comes to smack me again, I slice down with my weapon, severing the sharp point of it; there, now all it's got is a harmless stump. Wrong. I jump out of the way as the freak cries out in rage and tries to flatten me with the bloody stump. It suddenly goes berserk, as if I messed up it's programming or something, but I don't see any fried circuitry, hell, who knows how this freak works. It keeps growling and trying to kill me, but I just stab at it a few times, enjoying the wounds I inflict upon it, it's brain too retarded to register that I can kill it anytime I want. Finally I get bored with its hissy fit, so I power up and unleash my finishing move; I call it Vlad the impaler…my finishing move not my dick, that's Maynard.

I run up, purple and black energy surrounding me and I stab right through the leathery green chest of the freak, my arm and gauntlet coming out of the back along with my weapon. The freak stops growling and moving, the crops propped up by my arm through it. Greenish blood and blue bile spill from the wounds. I'm tempted to sample it but I don't wanna get food poisoning.

I pull my arm back through the hole and let the corpse fall to the ground with a squelch; I'm thinking I should take it back to the crack den for some dissection; I've decided that it should be my base of operations, no pun intended, for things like this. My senses pick up more of the freaks, coming closer to my location, almost as if they know what's happened.

I could go, save the trouble and hassle, I've had my meal albeit only half. **** it, I could use the practice with Implaer, not to mention the chance to study these freaks.

***
"…monster corpses found stacked ritualistically in front of an orphanage, blood spelling out profanities…"

"…We find the sicko responsible and we…"

"…speculations that there of a malevolent force at work…"

"There have been more sightings of the rumoured vigilante. Eye witnesses descriptions suggest the vigilante has copied the fictional character Batman…"

"…we're working on the street racing scene, but right now we have more diabolical things to deal with…"


"And in other news, Marlborough Hills has been devastated by evil rangers…"

I flick the channel viscously at the mention of that, my smile fading from the other news reports. I walk to the window and open it, leaning out.

"Are you people retarded?! I'm the fucking Vampire Ranger!!" I yell, shielding my eyes from the sunlight.

"Shut up ya moron!" is the only reply from someone across the street trying to sleep.

I close the window and try to sleep, no classes today thank God. My mind goes back to the mass dissections I carried out; learnt a little bit but the only thing that made it worthwhile was dumping them in front of that orphanage and painting the words with the green blood. Wish I cudda seen their sweet, innocent faces contort with horror.

I don't sleep so well. Sometimes, I think the violence gets to me. I go to the fridge and look for a small plastic vial. I grab a hypodermic needle and fill it, emptying the vial and inject myself with the blood. It's a little stale but it helps me regain my grip. I check the fridge, it's empty. I better pick up some more vials, packs and needles from work tonight. Hopefully I've feasted enough this past week to allow me to go hungry this one night; in a room full of stiffs I could easily have more than my fill, but after a few minutes blood starts to congeal and go stale, so it's best not dining on one that's been dead more than half an hour. I know from experience, one that I don't plan on repeating anytime soon; I threw up so much I think I lost a kidney.

After all of my ramblings, you probably have a lot of questions; like who am I? How did I get my powers and why do I do the things I do?

The answers are simple: I'm Zakky Pavmire, college student working at a mortuary and doing what I do because I can.

I mean the world's got more than it's fair share of Power Rangers, they don't need me doing the whole 'powers and responsibility' thing, and in a city this bent and crooked there's no fuckin' point. Call me a slacker, monster, murder, I don't care. Just watch out, one day I may be feasting on you.

Keep your eyes open...

("I bleed for no one" by A Fall from Tragedy plays as ending theme)
 

Latest posts

Who's on Discord?

Top
Mastodon