Noirs Akuma

    Noir danced elegantly from my lips like a flame being soothed gently by the wind. Gracefully it slid into my ear like a line of silk and nulled my senses with its exquisite beauty and splendor, however, I needed contrast; a daemonic word to slash fear down unto my foe:

"Akuma..." I whisper like a naive schoolchild with a curse word. The word reeks of horror, or torment and revenge. I let the two words combine in my mind and slither, slowly and sinisterly with a hint of sophistication through my lips, echoing with menace off of the walls of the small hangar.

    The scarred chest of the mobile suit beckons me inside cautiously; it hisses in disapproval and swings open violently on glimmering black hinges revealing a crimson cockpit with far more controls than I had ever known could exist in a mobile suit, though the basic controls lay where they were meant to be and that would be enough for me. Within minutes I had scaled Sanguine and had seated myself in its chest.

    A whir of the fusion engine, the gentle hum of the console flashing to life and the hiss as the chest sealing itself greet me like old friends as I close my eyes grasping the accelerator firmly between my right hand, I push forward and the sluggish legs tear themselves from their bindings, advancing through the hangar slowly. Through the monitor I watch as Arsenic struggles to his feet, propping himself up against the Sanguine Scarring's console. He rubs at his neck; aching as the swift blow would have left a sizable bruise and horrible pain. He glances upwards, at me, at us, and his face drops, contorts in horror and disbelief.

    His mouth opens violently as if screaming, though disbelief has his tongue and as metal collides with metal, we hear nothing but our thunderous steps.

    The blast doors are sealed, though I put faith in Sanguine. The beam scythe begins to vibrate and hum excitedly as the arc of pure plasma shoots from both ports, roaring as the intense heat de-atomizes the air around it. I faithfully swing its arms and the beam scythe cut's through the fifty inch blast doors as if they were but flesh to a talon.

    A ringing klaxon begins to wail as we crawl through into nothingness.

The End

5 comments about this story Feed