Marcus--Sequel

Haven of Hell Part 2

The two charged each other, and were accompanied with the unmelodic symphony of meeting blades, which struck fiercely without hesitation. My newly engaged target had exited through door which had previously been concealed by darkness. I myself was running towards said door, as the clash of the mighty titans I’d left behind rumbled the building. I swiftly passed through the door with zero desire to look back. As I gathered myself to execute my big hit, I reaquianted myself with my surrounding, all that was in this room, was a glaring white stairway leading upwards, in which every stair, tile of ceiling, and panel of wall was a flourescent light. The only break in the perfection of this intimidating endless staircase was a long trail of thick blood and foot prints that could’ve been a perfect stamp printed in blood. I’d known where he was headed, so I took my time to count each step, and enjoy these moments which would lead to my final feeling of true success and conquer. As I gently drifted up the stairs I recalled a hymn from when there was time to enjoy music “God is dead, and no one cares, if there is a Hell, I’ll see you there.”; I laughed to myself about the appropriateness of the time in which this memory was evoked. Finally, I’d reached the seventeen hundreth and first step, and there sat my soon to be final job in puddles of his own tears and blood, hunched over a familiar corpse in despair; not knowing who to call out for in his final hour of dismay. I studied his misery, removed my gun, and pressed the angry end against the crossroad of the cerebellum and cortex as he held his face and liquified his remnants of ,once thought nonexistent, soul into his palms; I asked “Any last prayers?” … and his words follow my mind to this very day. “Man has ripped God from his throne, drag him to the streets, and made him beg for forgiveness … Pulled Lucifer from his comfort of flames and suffering, and introduced him to true horror. Prayers? … prayers are of childsplay. Prayers? … Merely letters sent to nowhere. Today, the devil cries to God, begs for salvation … but God … God is silent … because God is dead … and Man holds the smoking gun.” I took in his words, and breathed my own back out, as oxygen and carbon dioxide: “God died the day man found him.”

        My gun rang just as he exclaimed “AS DID THE WORL”. Then, there was nothing. No land unconquered,  no waters untreded, no element left to rape, no space left to occupy, no body left to enslave. No need for understanding, no purpose, no good, no evil, no life, no death. No reason. This was the end of all things.