Ishmel Rykov
Sep 9th, 2003, 04:08:02 PM
(staged a few weeks before the thread "I hate you")
Ishmel's eyes slowly opened; his hand clenched into a fist by his face. He focused his feelings into his fist, his hate. He could feel the power manifesting in him, his inner strength that he had been working on to learn the basics of Teras Kasi. He continued to feed his hate into his arm as he closed his eyes again. In his mind, he could see his hate flowing from his soul to his fist and his eyes opened, this time looking to his target.
Victor Brelun was on the ground and held down by the weight of Rykov's body on top of him. Ishmel had a knee placed on his sternum and another on his left arm. Victor's right arm was a mangled mess of flesh that quivered occasionally. The damaged appendage was no threat to Ishmel now and in a moment; Victor Brelun would never pose an obstacle to Rykov again.
"Please Ishmel... spare me. I was wrong to antagonize you for your pay and to discriminate upon someone who has obviously overcame their genetic defect. Just please... spare me! You know what? You... you can have the condo. It's yours, take it."
Rykov's lips lifted in fury. His milky gray eyes squinted.
"Victor, you have made the last mistake of your life. Your first was to pull that knife on me. Look what it did to your arm. Who could've thought a pasty, little man like me could ram it in your wrist and spin your arm in such a manner that the knife would peel your skin off so easily? And no, I will not spare you."
The fist pulled back, the potential so visible that Victor turned his head and closed his eyes in anticipation of the pain. It didn't come and he turned his head to look back.
"Why? Why? Mercy! Please!"
Ishmel almost smiled.
"Why? Because you, my landlord, are yet another one of those people that I have to say, I do hate to the highest extent. Your flattery only increased my hate and your pleading for mercy, lack of acceptance with death, feeds it more."
Rykov felt the hate and strength sapping out of his fist; he was losing focus. He growled deeply from his throat. He was talking too much. Either way the condo would be his and either way, Victor would die, from Ishmel or from blood loss.
His eyes closed again and in his mind he could see his hand, glowing with hateful emotions, move in slow motion. Time seemed to slow, Ishmel could hear his heartbeat and his breathing almost slow. His hand plunged downwards and as it reached an inch away from Victor's face, time sped up as if in fastforward.
Victor's head exploded, the force of the momentum destroyed his skull and pressed the flesh inwards. It looked as if a vacuum had taken to it from the inside. The man's brains splaterred against the brick wall and slid down; blood rained down in a shower. Ishmel pulled his blood drenched arm back and examined it.
He had no such feeling of the pain he knew should be in his fist. A knuckle or two were probably broken from such a hit but he was more interested in almost seeing the hate dissolve from his fist. Was this the power that Teras Kasi promised? Could it help him unleash his hate in such a manner? How wonderful!
He stood laughing, wiping his hand against the wall. The blood streamed down and he continued until he had written a word. He laughed as he overlooked his work. He saw it was good and turned on his heel. Unrolling his sleeves, Rykov covered his bloody arm and looked in the reflection of a window to make sure not too much blood was on his face. He wiped the droplets away and spit on the window. He hated himself nearly as much as everything else. He walked out of the alley, making sure no one was around to immediately find the scene with Ishmel in it.
Ishmel's eyes slowly opened; his hand clenched into a fist by his face. He focused his feelings into his fist, his hate. He could feel the power manifesting in him, his inner strength that he had been working on to learn the basics of Teras Kasi. He continued to feed his hate into his arm as he closed his eyes again. In his mind, he could see his hate flowing from his soul to his fist and his eyes opened, this time looking to his target.
Victor Brelun was on the ground and held down by the weight of Rykov's body on top of him. Ishmel had a knee placed on his sternum and another on his left arm. Victor's right arm was a mangled mess of flesh that quivered occasionally. The damaged appendage was no threat to Ishmel now and in a moment; Victor Brelun would never pose an obstacle to Rykov again.
"Please Ishmel... spare me. I was wrong to antagonize you for your pay and to discriminate upon someone who has obviously overcame their genetic defect. Just please... spare me! You know what? You... you can have the condo. It's yours, take it."
Rykov's lips lifted in fury. His milky gray eyes squinted.
"Victor, you have made the last mistake of your life. Your first was to pull that knife on me. Look what it did to your arm. Who could've thought a pasty, little man like me could ram it in your wrist and spin your arm in such a manner that the knife would peel your skin off so easily? And no, I will not spare you."
The fist pulled back, the potential so visible that Victor turned his head and closed his eyes in anticipation of the pain. It didn't come and he turned his head to look back.
"Why? Why? Mercy! Please!"
Ishmel almost smiled.
"Why? Because you, my landlord, are yet another one of those people that I have to say, I do hate to the highest extent. Your flattery only increased my hate and your pleading for mercy, lack of acceptance with death, feeds it more."
Rykov felt the hate and strength sapping out of his fist; he was losing focus. He growled deeply from his throat. He was talking too much. Either way the condo would be his and either way, Victor would die, from Ishmel or from blood loss.
His eyes closed again and in his mind he could see his hand, glowing with hateful emotions, move in slow motion. Time seemed to slow, Ishmel could hear his heartbeat and his breathing almost slow. His hand plunged downwards and as it reached an inch away from Victor's face, time sped up as if in fastforward.
Victor's head exploded, the force of the momentum destroyed his skull and pressed the flesh inwards. It looked as if a vacuum had taken to it from the inside. The man's brains splaterred against the brick wall and slid down; blood rained down in a shower. Ishmel pulled his blood drenched arm back and examined it.
He had no such feeling of the pain he knew should be in his fist. A knuckle or two were probably broken from such a hit but he was more interested in almost seeing the hate dissolve from his fist. Was this the power that Teras Kasi promised? Could it help him unleash his hate in such a manner? How wonderful!
He stood laughing, wiping his hand against the wall. The blood streamed down and he continued until he had written a word. He laughed as he overlooked his work. He saw it was good and turned on his heel. Unrolling his sleeves, Rykov covered his bloody arm and looked in the reflection of a window to make sure not too much blood was on his face. He wiped the droplets away and spit on the window. He hated himself nearly as much as everything else. He walked out of the alley, making sure no one was around to immediately find the scene with Ishmel in it.