I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It surprised me enough that the creepy chick could tell that I existed--did she have some sort of whacked-out mind hacking powers? That had to be the only explanation. But it still irritated the hell out of me to hear her suggest that I was merely a part of Elijah's fractured mind. I had a sudden urge to take over and slap her around a little bit, something that the chief wouldn't have the balls to do after being insulted as such.
Then she had to go and say that she murdered Christopher.
I screamed. It was an unearthly, ear-splitting noise that made Elijah and woman flinch. My rage boiled over--I had grown to like the chef after we dismantled all those zombies a few weeks ago. And now he was dead. My vision turned blood red as I looked over at Elijah. He seemed to be in as much shock as I was, although the look on his face implied that all he would do to avenge our friend is shed a few tears and sob a bit. I looked back at the thin, pale woman. Oh, I was going to kill her. I'd ram my katana up her crotch, twist it a full three-sixty degrees, gouge her eyes out with two icicles, tear her throat out with my bare hands, piss on her corpse, then leave her broken and violated body out here in the cold, snowy landscape of Salvar for the ravens to feast on while keeping her skull for a soup bowl.
Oh, this fucking slutbag was going to die, and it was going to be beautiful. I've always considered senseless bloodshed to be an art form.
I forced myself into Elijah's body, taking control like I usually did whenever I felt the need to cause some permanent physical damage to something. However, the dragon continued to sit on my chest, which caused a small hiccup in my plan. All I could do was continue to glare at the woman and try to explode her head with my own mind. The unprocessed handbag kept on snarling at me, showing me its sharp teeth as if they were going to frighten me. The black-clad bitch snapped her fingers, which made the creature finally get off my chest.
Now that I could move and breathe freely again, I wasted no time jumping to my feet. I locked the woman in my sights as my right hand swiftly moved for my sword. The sound of the steel blade scraping against the smooth wooden sheathe was accompanied by my rushed footsteps through the snow as I rushed the bitch. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins as I drew ever so closer to dealing cold slashy death once again.
The woman merely stood there, calm and cold as always. I let out another scream as I raised my sword up in the air, ready to cleave her face in two. In a flash, she stepped to my side and smacked my arms with her right hand, throwing me off balance. Before I could right my attack, she reached up with her left hand and constricted her thin fingers around my throat. I stopped in my tracks--she didn't look it, but holy hell was she strong. It was as if she wasn't expending any effort at all to cut off my air supply.
But this wasn't going to stop me. Straining under the pain of a windpipe that was in the process of being crushed, I raised the katana once more. Unfortunately, she anticipated this, and was quick to bend my wrist in a fashion that made me drop my precious toy. The sword kicked up a small cloud of powdery snow as it crashed into the ground.
The pain was becoming unbearable. I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything... I was helpless in the hands of this woman. Sure, I probably could've kneed her in the babymaker, but for all I knew she might have another hand down there that would've caught my leg.
I felt a wave of emotion overcome me. For a second, I couldn't sort out what it was--but then it hit me like a sack of bricks. I was enjoying this. This level of pain was a new sensation. Sure, Elijah's killed me enough times during our Thursday night training sessions, but this was on a whole new--no--real level. A smile formed on my face; small at first, but I could feel it grow into one of my regular old psycho grins. Whenever I could get a gasp of air, I laughed. My eyes lit up in joy at this sensation.
The woman merely laughed along with me as she tightened her grip around my throat (come to think of it, the crazed look in her eyes to match my own made her look kind of cute). My own giggles were suddenly cut off with an choked gurgle. Her fingernails pierced my flesh. I could feel the warm sensation of blood trickling down my neck as it began to add a few more stains to the chief's denim jacket. Before she could finish me off, however, a familiar voice cut through the air. The woman released her death grip on my breathing tube, and I immediately fell to the ground, coughing hysterically as I tried to take a few deep breaths. I touched my neck. The small gashes where her nails pierced my neck were tender and oozing blood. I felt dizzy.
Twenty gold says that you wouldn't have had the guts to kill me anyways, you stupid sack of shit, I thought to myself.
I looked up in the direction of the voices. Though my eyesight was rather blurry, I could make out two figures. One of them had a colorful yet really ugly mohawk an the dirtiest dress code I've ever seen, while the other had a dirty white coat on. It was the chef.
I weakly smiled. "Oh, hey. Wassup? I thought you were dead." I fell face down into the snow in an unconscious heap.