Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,39
but his body sagged under the last few years of self-abuse. He couldn’t generate the same speed and power when he threw the first punch and missed his target by a wide margin.
Unfortunately his opponents were trained professionals. It all happened so fast. Before he knew it Erik was sprawled on his dusty, stained carpet.
A boot kicked him in the mouth, followed by the coppery flavor of his blood. More kicks came in quick succession, landing against a belly turned to mush. He hunched over, gasping for air. But he didn’t scream. There was still no fear. He’d been waiting to meet his maker for quite some time now.
Erik had lost count of how many times he’d considered eating a bullet. The sole reason he’d never gone through with it was his mom. He wouldn’t want the world to think Mrs. Garrison had raised a quitter.
Erik had a pretty good idea what was going to happen next. He was ready.
Bring it on, you bastards!
The big man in the group of home invaders — Erik instantly pegged him as military — nodded to his men. The youngest member of the group, a punk who couldn’t be older than twenty or so, approached Erik. Knife out.
Let’s see if the kid has it in him, Erik wondered.
Steel flashed and descended in a hypnotic arc. Sharpened metal sliced through two years of junk food and booze.
The little fucker actually has the cojones to stick a man — look at this shit!
The area where the blade had entered felt cold, but Erik experienced no pain. At least not yet. Wasn’t adrenaline wonderful? The wound felt almost like being stung by a bee. The kid registered no emotion as he hovered above him. His bland indifference gave Erik the necessary kick to respond and probably explained what he did next.
Erik’s fingers closed around the knife in his belly and pulled it out of his flesh. He saw shock in the young man’s face, which deepened when the same knife sliced open his thigh in a stream of red.
The cultist stumbled aside with a cry of pain.
Erik grinned and in that moment he was back in Iraq, nineteen years old. Young, dumb and full of cum. Ready to face any enemy and endure any hardship. The moment was shattered seconds later as more blades went to work on him, but it allowed Erik to flash a bloody grin at the cameras recording his remaining moments.
“I hope Talon sends every one of you bastards to hell,“ he hissed before all strength left his bleeding body and blackness claimed him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TALON DRIFTED THROUGH the void. An impenetrable blackness, defined by a perfect silence that was finally broken by a familiar voice. “The dangers of the occult are real.”
The billionaire’s words pierced the silence. It drove home a truth that was growing more pervasive in his mind. Zagan wasn’t like any opponent he’d faced before.
You’re in way over your head, kid.
His refusal to pay heed to Casca’s wisdom would now cost him dearly. Ignoring intelligence on the battlefield carried with it dire consequences.
Without warning, the darkness lifted. Waves of phosphorescent green light engulfed him. Talon was back in Omicron’s assembly chamber. He was bare-chested and tied to a chair facing the stage. Ropes cut into his wrists.
The vast screen was unspooling Erik’s final moments once more, a terrible, sickening loop. As Erik’s screams reverberated throughout the cavernous auditorium, Talon jerked against his restraints, shaking with rage. “You fucking cowards, I’ll kill you all!”
Talon craned his neck and spotted a small army of computer programmers seated in the rows behind him. Fingers drilled the keys of their laptops, blank eyes in the thrall of some ungodly spell. How could so many people remain indifferent to the violence onscreen?
“I see you’re awake, Sergeant. Good.”
Talon spun toward the direction of the voice. Zagan lurked in the shadows, a silhouette outlined against the flickering screen. He stepped into the light, his ascetic features coming into view. The knife in Zagan’s hand promised Talon a painful, drawn-out end.
Talon steeled himself for the torture ahead. To meet death in battle was different than being captured by the enemy and becoming their helpless plaything. Any man could be broken, and Talon held no illusions that he would prove the exception to that rule. Nevertheless, he met Zagan’s gaze without flinching.
“Years ago, I worked on a first-person shooter called Hell World,” Zagan said. “It featured soldiers battling demons. Pretty cutting-edge for its day. In the game, the military