I really enjoyed writing this short piece. And no, i wasn't on drugs when I though of these last two pieces of fiction.
He felt the UV pumping through his blood stream, pounding a heavy industrial beat into his brain.
His body went into automatic killing mode as he strode through the rubble. Guns into his hands, spraying bullets at the carrien running towards him.
Firing left, firing right, swapping his guns mid shot for that extra flair for the Gorezone cameras. Acrobatic leap over a thrown spear aimed at his shot, head shot on the thrower. Reload, spin the pistols on your thumb, twice for good luck.
Feel the beat getting faster as more carrien flood towards him, and he dropps the Fen's in favour of two TA subs. Insane grin as the blood and guts rains down, blown into the air by the glorius 12 mm rounds.
One carrien left, a lord, panicing because his loyal minions lay twisted and broken. Draw the Claymore for the finale, guaranted a 50% cut from the show.
The beat becomes an angelic host, raising their voices in an orgasmic cry of his name.
Feel the blood on his hand and kneeing down, next to the body of the lord. Kissing the hilt of the claymore.
Kissing the icon of Mr Slayer.
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