Massacre Girls (Rated M)

[Briarheart]

"Yes. Yes, very much so. Let's do that."

My airship.

My beautiful airship.

Up in flames.

Do these backwoods inbred knuckle-dragging fucks have any idea how much effort I put into taking that damn thing? How much cordyceps I had to burn through in order to convert the crew to Team Maddy? How many more corpses I left in the shadows back in the depot in order to board the thing in the first place?

And now, there it sits, a giant fireball in the middle of the fucking snowy wastes. A towering column of black smoke rising into the still air, a beacon that shit was going down right here, maybe someone should come help. Fucking let them--I would tear them all apart, limb by limb, and build a new airship out of them. Their lungs could be the balloons that hoisted the craft into the sky. The cabin could be made from the rest of their corpses. Walls crafted from legs and arms bound by intestines. A floor made of their rib cages. Buttons to operate the fucking thing made from eyeballs.

A giant nightmare ship that would announce the arrival of your doom.

I quite liked this idea.

"Everything burns," I snapped at Amari. "Every building, and every man, woman, and child you can lay your hands on. Burn them all."

I tightened my grip on the shattered arm of the man who begged for either death or mercy at my feet. I couldn't make out which one he wanted through all the tears, screams, and babbling.

I called out to Amari, "Did you hear me?" When I didn't get an answer, I turned to see what the fuck she was doing stalling. She was doubled over, one arm clutching her waist, a trickle of black shit dripping from her mouth and collecting in a smoking puddle in at her feet.

"I'll be fine," she croaked out, wiping her mouth clean with her arm.

Turning away was all I could do to hide my smile. I quickly scanned the street as the broken Ar'Tuel picked her next target, looking for a suitable building to burn down--

"--Oh, hey, a bookstore!"

I dropped the tattered arm belonging to the man that I inadvertently dragged halfway across the road and walked up to the store. A quaint little sign that read Snowdrift Books hung over the doorway. This was great, Uril Narsted recently put out the last book in his Abyssal Archives series, and all the stores in Radasanth were always out of copies whenever I made the trek to the city. Perhaps this place had one.

I tried the doorknob, It wouldn't budge. Locked. The proprietor was probably inside, hunkering down in a back room, hoping that the bloodshed would be over before long.

Oh well, I'll just make my own entryway. Turning on my heels, I strode back towards the curled form of the man I left in the street. "Come here, I need your help," I snarled at him as dug my gnarled fingers into his thick, oily hair and lifted him up to his feet. He sobbed and stammered in protest as I threw him against the storefront window. The incessant noises blubbering from his mouth stopped on the fourth try, when the thick pane of glass finally gave way. Three more slams cleared out the rest of the glass, giving me ample space to waltz in. By this point, the poor fucker was perfectly still. Blood poured freely out of a deep gash that curved across his forehead and down his temple. Ha haaa, oops. I didn't even get to thank him for his help breaking in.

"Helloooo~," I called out. The only response was the crunch of broken glass underfoot as I stepped through the window. "I was wondering if you had a copy of The Kings of Skullzfyre by Uril Narsted? Should've come out two months ago."

No response. I started looking around. No copies of the book, either. Just a bunch of shitty romance novels and writings from various members of the fucking Ethereal Sway.

I did eventually find a stash of matches and lamp oil, though. And the owner's family in the same room. Fearful, crying, defenseless.

They burned just as well as the rest of the place.