Sour Blood stared at Santa Claws with what Meg thought was a mixture of disbelief and fear and it stunned her more than actually confronting the fat man herself. This just wasn't possible! Something wasn't right in with Blood a big way and the wheels began to turn in her head.
Anyone who knew anything about Sour Blood knew that he no longer had the capability to fear. After all, he was Slayer's #1 assassin for years and had renounced all of his human frailties to become the ultimate killing machine. That ended when he met the woman of his dreams (that Dark Night infiltrator slut Linda Love who was sent to seduce him) and learned to love again. That was just before Dark Night murdered her as a traitor and he became a Contract Killer to pay them back. Ever since, he'd been the star of the circuit.
But what if some of it wasn't exactly true? What if more than "some" of it wasn't true? He was supposed to laugh in the face of death daily, but here he was shaking in front of her like a little kid. She wasn't shaking, at least not with fear as the gears clicked into place. This was her idol? THIS?
"HO! HO! HO!", boomed the fat man and Sour Blood shuddered with each syllable.
Meg had been afraid of the HJ doobrie too, but then she wasn't a soldier. Even if Sour Blood thought it was the real thing, shouldn't the "MAN WITHOUT FEAR" as one of his slogans called him, have taken it with a little more grace? The truth hit her like a brick.
Poser. Just a fucking, media product poser. Just like the big dumb toy had said before he had cleaned its clock. The toy, as fake as it was, could recognize him for what he was.
"Sour Blood's a fucking coward," Meg said to herself, the tears coming to her eyes. How could she have been so stupid to fall for the media hype? She shook her head in disbelief and embarrassment.
"Santa Claws?" Sour Blood said, his tone somewhere between a question and a statement. "You're REAL?"
The fat man laughed again, his entire felt-covered body down to his boots jiggling obscenely like a bunch of rats in a bag. The wet black pits he called eyes squinted behind narrow spectacles as he laughed again, putting stress on the patchwork stitches that held his face together and popping one or two loose. The beard wasn't in much better shape, having been crudely stitched into place and hanging in loose gaps below his chin. This was the first good look Meg had of him and vomit welled up to sear the back of her throat.
Stroking his beard with hooked claws that stuck through the tips of his rotting leather gloves, he smiled out wider than should have been possible and the skin tore wetly to show the edge of his jawbone. Through the gaping maw, rows of glinting needle-like teeth and bloody rotting gums welled up and he laughed again deeply, enjoying Blood's reaction. Meanwhile, his belly writhed under its own power and he pinned it against his belt with his hands as he answered. A cluster of elves jingled and chuckled along around his feet and sang along like a weird echo.
"I'm more real than you are Boy!" Santa Claws laughed. "POSER!"
Blood flinched and furrowed his brow, which only made the fat man and his creatures laugh harder. He kept laughing and laughing, shaking harder with each bout until he started coughing and got a grip on himself. Absently, he giggled and wiped his glasses with a soiled handkerchief, leaving a dark red streak across the lens. "Oh man, sometimes I just kill myself."
Sour Blood snapped up the chainaxe, clutching it to his chest like a kid with a toy but then he seemed unsure what to do with it. Instantly, the humor in the fat man and the elves shifted into something darker and his smile twisted into a sneer. The elves around Santa's feet bared their fangs and snarled, tiny little knives appearing in their hands. For a long few seconds everything halted and Meg held her breath, hearing her heart pounding in her ears.
Santa Claws' sneer slipped back under his smile, but the pits that were eyes stayed hard and locked on Blood. They quickly became narrow slits and he laughed again, the sound making Meg shudder.
"Oh, now, now Myron," He said. "Let's not PRETEND to be a badass, okay? We both know what you REALLY are!"
Meg stared at the exchange. Myron? MYRON? What kind of a name was that? Sour Blood's face showed his shock as he stammered and tried to shake it off.
"My n-name isn't Myron you-"he started, but a burst of booming laughter cut him off.
"No, not now," Claws answered. "But it USED to be!"
"How-how did you know-" he started, but the fat man cut in again, with a tone like he was speaking to a small child.
"My boy, I know more than you could ever imagine," he said. "So, MYRON. What do you want for SLA-mas? Want Santa to make you into a real boy?"
Sour Blood was shaken and Meg ran up to him, grabbing his arm. "Don't listen to him, " she pleaded. "You're still a hero. Just take him out! PLEASE!"
"Oh yeah, honey he's a REAL hero, " Santa laughed, mockingly. "He'd loves to take men out. Isn't that right, Tinkerbell?"
"This is bullshit," Sour Blood snapped as he forced anger over his shock. "Stand back, I'm going to lay some pain down on him!"
Santa's eyes turned into slits again as he let out another "Ho! Ho! Ho!" and quivered in place. "Hey Meggie, has your hero ever told you about that time he paid those four young, supple men to 'lay some pain down' on him?"
Blood's face got red and he was nearly slobbering with anger, any fear forgotten. The fat man kept laughing and taunting, unconcerned and enjoying himself.
"Didn't think so, but you could say that he's a REAL man's hero!"
With a yell, Blood rushed him, snapping the chainaxe on and gunning it as he closed across the piles of presents and debris. Claws casually raised his right hand as he watched and let it drop when the Contract Killer was within about ten feet. From above, Meg heard a jingling and looked but it was too late to scream.
The elaborate twenty-tiered chandelier that her Mother had designed and had made by master craftsmen hurled from out of the darkness above like a comet. It came down on Sour Blood with a roar, shaking the floor as it exploded into a cloud of dust and glass with a shriek that made Meg duck and cover her ears. Standing up, she blinked and looked at the unmoving mess that used to be her hero. The tinkling of the breaking glass faded in her ears and Meg heard the crunch of the fat man's boots coming closer.
"Guess you could say that I laid the pain down on him, right Meg?" Santa laughed, his wet chuckles turning into a growl. One of the elves snapped an extension on the chainace and handed it up to him and he patted it against his hand.
"Now it's your turn, Bitch," he said as the chainaxe snarled into life.
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