Ink

Cithru brought the glass to his lips and took a long swallow. The heat that blazed down his throat and plunged into his stomach was very satisfying. “What do you call this drink, human?”



The bartender chuckled. “Name’s Geno, and that drink is called Adios Motherfucker.”



Cithru’s eyebrow lifted. “Really?” He had forgotten how amusing the humans could be sometimes.



“Guaranteed to get you twisted.”



The demon polished off his drink. “Your idea of twisted and mine are most likely to differ.”



Geno looked like he was about to ask a question when a slim man with spiky pink hair pushed his way through the crowd and came to lean against the bar right beside Cithru. “Hey Geno, Lucian would like ‘A Short Trip to Hell.’



Cithru stiffened, until he realized the pink haired man was referring to a drink. Unlike ‘Adios Motherfucker’, the name of this second drink was not particularly amusing, as it dredged up memories of unspeakable pain and suffering. Contrary to the drinks name, no trip to Hell was ever short.



The man with the pink hair seemed to have noticed Cithru’s distress, because he placed a hand on his shoulder and peered into his face nearly shouting to be heard over the pounding music. “Are you okay buddy?”



Cithru inhaled the pleasing scent of the man; a bit of sweat, mixed with a spicy cologne that reminded him of burning herbs. He smiled. “Yes.”



The man nodded and smiled back. “Good.”



“Hey Angel, drinks ready,” Geno said, placing a glass with blue liquid in it, on the counter.



“Oh cool. Thanks Geno. Just put it on Lucian’s tab.”



“Sure thing.”



The pink haired man cast a smile in Cithru’s direction before grabbing his drink, and sauntering off into the crush of gyrating bodies.



Cithru got up to follow him. He’d gone out the last few nights in a row, observing the city, taking in all he could about this new era. The technological age had grown by leaps and bounds since he had last walked the Earth. Small things like light switches and stereo systems still fascinated him, and irritated him to no end. Contraptions called automobiles had replaced horse and carriage. He was pleased to see how fast paced this new world was. There were buildings like club Hypnotik where humans gathered and socialized, making them far easier to pick off, than when they’d gathered at church. He didn’t have to work as hard for his diner. Or his dessert, he mused, following Angel’s tight, leather covered ass.



Alexander made for hours of fun, but the boy was exhausted from his cravings. He needed fresh meat.



Cithru’s eyes narrowed, as he watched Angel switch over to a man reclining on several of the brightly colored couches lining the far wall. Angel handed the dark haired man his drink and slid into his lap. The man was a giant, easily six foot seven, with hands the size of baseball mitts. One large hand groped Angel’s ass, as the man sipped his drink with the other.



Angel giggled, and leaned down to whisper something in the giant’s ear. Two of the giant’s cronies nudged each other and shared a joke about the couple.



Cithru was good at reading people. No matter how much society had changed there would always be two kinds of humans, ones with power, and ones without. This group of men had power. The clothes they wore, the finery that glinted in ears, and on fingers, and shoes, but most of all the aura of arrogance that surrounded them like a cloud of smoke, all spoke of this. Other humans would respect and fear them.



Cithru was quite amused.



What they considered power was child’s play. They had not even begun to taste true fear. None of them had ever heard a million voices of the damned screeching in agony for days at a time. None had had the skin flayed from their bodies with a whip formed of fire. They had not been bled to the last drop of blood in their body, and still been forced to beg for the mercy of oblivion.



But he could give them a taste.



A taste would have to do.



*****



“You did not allow me to introduce myself, Angel. I am called Cithru.”



Lucian looked up at Cithru, but said not a word. He nodded to his two cronies.



“Alright pal. This is VIP only,” said a baldheaded man, with a picture of skull and bones tattooed on his neck. He pushed Cithru’s shoulder. “Get lost.”



The dark skinned man at his back took off his shades, and tucked them into his shirt, then folded his arms across his chest, indicating that Cithru would not be getting past him.



Cithru didn’t move. He smiled instead. “How much for the man with pink hair?”



The bald man snorted. “You got a death wish? Get the fuck out of here before Lucian has to break you into two pieces.”



“I’d like to see him try.” Cithru’s black eyes glittered.



“What the fuck? You crazy man?!” the dark skinned man exploded.



“There a problem Smoke?” Lucian asked, his voice sounded like the echo at the bottom of a barrel.



“Guy says he wants a piece of you, Lucian. Must have been dropped on his head as a baby.”



Lucian chuckled, but stood, silencing a protesting Angel with a look. He towered over his two friends, and glared down at Cithru. “Still want a piece?”



When Cithru didn’t back down, Lucian shrugged. “I like Geno. Wouldn’t want to mess up his place. Let’s take this outside.”



Smoke shook his head. “Nah, Lucian. Me and Paul can take him.”



“He wants a piece of me Smoke. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.” Lucian said. He nodded toward the exit doors to the right of them. “Shouldn’t take a minute.”



Some of the dancers had stopped to stare at the confrontation brewing between Cithru and the notorious drug lord. None of them dared follow them though, and the foursome walked calmly out of club Hypnotik, like gentlemen stepping out for a friendly chat.



Lucian led the way, and Smoke and Paul spilled out after him, into a side alley, lit by the a series of dim bulbs, lining the clubs roof. The moment the door closed, the three of them whirled around to find the fourth man gone.



“Where’d he go?” Paul asked.



Smoke laughed. “Probably ran straight home with piss running down his leg. Chump prolly just wanted bragging rights for standing up to Lucian.”



“Smoke!” Paul yelled.



“What man?!”



“He wants to tell you that I’m right behind you,” Cithru whispered in Smoke’s ear, before he plunged his hand through Smoke’s back. Smoke choked on his scream, the air seeping from his lungs in a hoarse wheeze.



Cithru tunneled through muscle, bone, and fat to wrap his fist around Smoke’s heart. He crushed it in his palm, taking pleasure in the feel of the organ exploding between his fingers. With a pulse of power he shoved Smoke away. The man fell forward, on his face, and Cithru knelt beside him. “Stay awhile.” he said, turning Smoke onto his back with a wave of his hand. He waved his hand over Smoke’s body using an ancient spell he’d learned from a shaman hundreds of years ago to trap Smoke’s soul in his dead body. He wanted him to see this.



Bullets pinged off the ground, and the bricks beside and above Cithru’s body, as Paul and Lucian emptied their clips into him. The bullets that struck Cithru simply fell away, littering the ground like dead flies.



“What the fuck man!” Paul cried, fumbling to reload.



Lucian had turned sheet white from head to toe. He ran for the back door and tried to open it.



It wouldn’t budge.



Paul started to scream, as Cithru came for him. “Quiet!” Cithru hissed. Paul’s mouth was still open but nothing was coming out.



The baldheaded man finally managed to raise his gun, and started firing at Cithru’s head. Cithru laughed at Paul’s horrified expression when the bullets reversed, and then he started quietly screaming, clawing at his face where the bullets had entered, one in each eye, and two in his right cheek.



Cithru heard a harsh screeching sound: the sound of metal protesting being split in half. Lucian had been busy. The big man pulled down a thick piece of piping from the side of club Hypnotic, which had previously been working as a draining pipe. He swung it at the back of Cithru’s head.



Without turning around Cithru easily spun out of the way. He lifted his hand and his sword Agon suddenly shimmered into existence. Before Lucian could swing again, Cithru was moving, faster than the eye could see. His blade sang through the air, painting swaths of crimson, bathing the sides of the building with the slick liquid. When he was finished Lucian fell to the ground, the pieces of his body following with sickening meaty thunks.



Cithru stepped over the clumps of flesh that was all that was left of Lucian and walked over to Smoke. He’d left him alive because his comment about running home with piss down his leg had pissed him off. Now Cithru crouched beside the body.



Smoke looked dead to the world, but inside Cithru could see the essence of the man peeking out.



Such horror was an addictive thing.



“I hope you enjoyed the show Smoke. I sure did,” Cithru laughed, and watched the restless soul squirm with fear.



Cithru suddenly grew serious. “Ah, but you wish to rest now. Getting twisted is busy work,” he said, his voice again laced with humor. “Let it not be said I am unkind.”



*****



The next thing Smoke knew he was in a coffin, six feet under, still aware and trapped in his body.



His spirit screamed and railed and tore at its confines, but could not break free. He was in a grave more assuredly than his corporeal one.



Then down in the dark, low and amused, a voice laced with every terror man could conceive said, “Adios Motherfucker.”









A/N: So maybe you're wondering what will happen to Alex if Cithru acquires Angel. (by the way, pretty ironic for a demon to want a man named angel eh?) Well anyway I haven't decided yet. Ultimately Alex and Angel are just distractions. Cithru wants Cam and means to get him. That you can bet on, but I wanted to show how Cithru adjusts to the twenty-first century. As you can see he has a sense of humor. He also is a bit spoiled, because he always gets what he wants. But hey, if you were a 3,000 y.o demon you would too. LOL.