THE CHOSEN Part Five: THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS AND THE MORNING AFTER Chapter Fifiteen

“Goodbye, Mr. Alderman,” Selivanov said. “I give you to the Darkness.” He locked his hands around Brian’s throat.

“No!” Gale shouted.

Brian jabbed his index fingers into each of Selivanov’s eye sockets. Both men screamed, being thrown apart. Like two magnets facing each other at the same polarity, each repelled by the other. An explosion of blue-white sparks burst from Selivanov’s eyes, the smell of ozone filling the air.

Brian staggered, his hands feeling like they were on fire. Pain shot up his arms, his brain overloaded with the sensory input. He looked at his hands. Both of his index fingers were turning black, curled and frozen. Dead.

Selivanov wept blood, staining his snowy beard. “Why you little bastard!”

One after the other, the shriveled husks that were Brian’s fingers fell off, crumbling to dust when they struck the floor.

“Now you’ve gone and made it personal!” Selivanov said, coming forward.

During the struggle, Brian and Selivanov had spun around in a macabre pirouette that left Selivanov’s back to Gale. Brian saw her, saw that she had his sword in her hands. Their eyes met. She nodded.

“Come here, you little vermin,” Selivanov said.

Gale swung with all the strength she could muster. The curved Egyptian blade bit deep into the back of Selivanov’s thigh, all the way to the bone. Selivanov gasped and toppled forward. Gale dropped to a crouch, slid the sword past him to Brian. Brian’s hands were numb and turning black, the discoloration spreading up his forearms, yet he managed to pick up the sword. Selivanov roared, his face contorted and mouth distended, no longer his own.

“Alderman!” Selivanov hissed.

With a single motion, Brian struck Selivanov’s head from his shoulders. It rolled away into shadow, the torso falling onto its belly, voiding itself of blood.

Brian limped over to Gale, pulling her to him.

“You’re hurt!” she said.

“Later.” He held her tight.

“You did it,” she said.

“Not without you,” he said. “Now let’s finish up. We’ve gotta figure out a way to trash that machine.”

The Darkness laughed. A horrid sound, the sound of writhing maggots elevated to deafening proportions. Brian spun around. What he saw made him want to scream. Gale did so. Selivanov’s body shook. Rising from the stump of its neck like the smoke of burning hellfire, the Darkness entered the world.

By TheCheezman

WAYNE MILLER is the owner and creative director of EVIL CHEEZ PRODUCTIONS, specializing in theatrical performances and haunted attractions. He has written, produced, and directed (and occasionally acted in) over two dozen plays, most of them in the Horror and True Crime genres. He obtained a doctorate in Occult Studies from Miskatonic University and is an active paranormal investigator. Is frequently told he resembles Anton Lavey. And Ming the Merciless. Denn die totden reiten schnell!

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