The Rising - Ennead 1

Scene 3 - 808s, Heartbreak and Legion; Act 1

 Why are you so paranoid?
Don’t be so paranoid...
…Baby, don’t worry about it
… Don’t even think about it

        She said I shouldn’t worry about it. I tried not to. I stayed positive, it’s something that’s ground into you as a Berserker: stay cool and follow orders. I'm not that good at that either, but God knows I try.

        This is where trusting her got me: walking the streets of downtown DC with oddly appropriate music blaring from my mp3 player.

        The shittiest part of going to the party this afternoon wasn’t the announcement of the engagement to join two of America’s blue blood families. It wasn’t Trip’s honest apology after I walked out, or his refusal to retaliate after I decked him. I let my anger lead to a dishonorable action, and I’d probably lose numbers. Losing numbers would have been totally worth it if she’d even tried to explain or talk to me at all. She played me into going so she wouldn't have to tell me to my face.

       But I guess it makes sense you know. Patrick Archibald Astor III, darling prince of the Astors, is my superior officer. Tip is a number 4. He's two numbers above a 6 like myself and only one from becoming Master. Third grandson of the Strategos of North America and Intern to Junior Senator H. Parker-Kennedy, possible future President of the United States.

        The guy has everything already, why does he have to get her too? But hey, coming to think of it, what the hell made me think a Cuban kid like me ever had a solid chance with a girl like her?

        A scrawny black dude stumbles into my path and leans into me. I guess wearing a blue blazer and khakis has given him the wrong idea. I stop impatiently as he presses a knife against my belly, hiding the blade under his tattered coat. He smells like the bad side of four cheap liquor stores and a crack house.

        I don’t give the guy a chance to make his kind request. I pulse menace at him and he falls backwards onto the ground, confused. He's probably wondering why his brain is telling him that I'm predator and he’s prey. I watch him trip and stumble as he runs away... and then I hear something.

        The yahoo jerked one of my earplugs out. My hearing, heightened by the pulse, picks up sniffling and sobbing. Instinct makes me run towards it. My eyes widen and I almost gag at what I find in a closed alley.

        Bodies are ripped into halves and quarters, viscera and bone showing. The walls are splattered with blood, a lot of blood. Human bodies have an unbelievable amount of blood. Judging by the body parts this is about what? five bodies worth? - but then again, I don't really take the time to count.

        In the center of the carnage only one man stands; a tough looking african american gangster sort. His right arm is hanging limp, the fingers that are clutching the gun he holds in his hands are barely holding on. His right leg is a mangled mess and he holds a broken off bottle in his left.

“What the f…” I begin to cuss before a sibilant voice cuts in.

“Oh dearie me, we were almost done. Where iss thisss one from!”

        The gangster dude suddenly notices me for the first time. His head swivels to look at me, bloodshot eyes wide open in horror.

“Run you fool, these…shit! … these things aren’t fucking playing Julio!... GO!!”

         His last word turns to a gurgle as a thick black spike pierces through his ribcage with a wet sound. The sibilant voice shrieks hysterically, mad with glee, “Oopsss, he looked away and he got ssssplit. I told him to pay attenssshhion.”

        The gangster drops to his knees before falling forward - that’s when I see what he was protecting from the dark creatures swarming in the alley. A tiny white girl, barely 6 years old is crouched on the ground, smeared with grime. Her eyes are tightly shut and she’s sobbing softly.

In the night I hear ‘em talk,
Coldest story ever told
Somewhere far along this road
He lost his soul
To a woman so heartless

        I damn sure haven’t lost my soul yet. I pull off my belt and pulse at a specific frequency. The Alchemyst construct responds to my intent and changes, transmuting into a silvery white blade. I pray that today isn’t the day I die. I have to ascend to at least Gladiator before I do.

        There’s no time to make a call for backup or think of a plan of attack. I don’t even have a shield, so my sword has to be enough. I just have enough time to kiss my Rosary before I charge.

“For Freedom and Honour.” I murmur, pulsing as menacingly as I can whilst I race the dark tendrils reaching for the child.

 “Berserkerrrr!!” the sibilant voice wails, “none of your kind were supposed to hear the child”.

        My blade hisses as it meets the first of the darklings, a skeletal insectoid. I feed all my pain and heartache into the blade and give myself to a dance of death.

Somewhere deep inside me I know I have to last until the assault ceases.

“You danccce pretty Bersserkerr. But you are only one, we arrre legion!”

Author’s note:
Lyrics used in this Scene are the copyright property of Mr. Kanye West. They were not used with his express permission, but I doubt Yeezy would mind.

Vote if you liked this, comment if you have feedback and do both if you think it's awesome!