The Tale of Flames

Grazie

New chapter for any and all who are interested

that was good

you finally wrote more im ammazed but it was good ^.^

lol Grazie

very good don (=

well this is cool...im glad im not there.. cause im not a deciple.. just his angel of war.

don how about you post this on HWF I want to see how they react and it is a good story

not till i get further along in it.

alright can I get an estimate?

4-5.....

Fine I read it, its good





O and is Robert suppose to be Rot?

no lol
I right a ch for each character from the PoV.
so nope
thx for readin ^^

well seeing as the other post got too big here is the new chapter
Ch.4
Location:Texas,Houston,Harris County
Onyx Nighting sat in his office at the police station, his face relaxed as he watched a T.V that was bolted to the upper left hand of the corner.He began to laugh as he saw Homer staple Bart's ears to a wall.Good old family violence.He glanced over to the monitors sitting on his desk to see if any activity had occured.The cell doors remained closed and the parking lot was safe from danger.He picked up a stray styrofoam cup and sipped from it.He felt his mouth burn and he felt ill.He spit it out and looked into the cup to see tobacco sitting in the bottom of the cup. He was gonna ring Jake's bell for this one.As Onyx looked around the table for a non diseased cup he found one and gul-ped from it, ridding his mouth of the taste.Jake walked out of the bathroom at this moment and saw Onyx greedily gulp from the cup and noticed his own cup.

"How many times have i told you?Look before you drink dumbass."
Onyx wiped his mouth and scowled at Jake."How many fuckin times have i told you to quit spitting in yer damn cups?"Jake grinned and moved his finger around in the air, as if doing math.

"About....59 times i believe."Onyx grimaced and pointed out the door.
"Get the hell out before I kick yer ass out."

Jake's face twisted as he wondered if it was a joke.He made his way out the front, glass door.Onyx grinned as he heard the door bell ring as the door came to.He rose from his swivel chair and walked into the Evidence Room, using an Unknown ID card that allowed full access.As the door gently slid aside he walked inside the small, white room.Onyx's shoes echoed as he walked to one side of the room and he pulled on his gloves .The camera above him watched as an empty room remain undisturbed.

He opened one of the several drawers embedded into the wall to find a one gallon Zip Lock baggy filled with a white powder.From his pocket he took a quart baggy and began to carefully pour the bag full, his eyes flickering down to the ground to make sure none fell to the floor and back to the door, listening for any entries that might impose on his work.He whistled as he worked, the tune filing the room.Within seconds the bag was filled with Columbian Sugar and was beggining to slide from his grip.He set it on the floor and zipped it shut, insuring that there would be no spillage.He slid the lightened gallon bag back into the drawer and left as easily as he had entered, the door sliding behind him quietly and locking on it's own.The sun began to set and the clock in the main office showed 7:15.He quickly left, hoping to escape meeting with the night shift on their way in.The evening sun glared on his back as he walked down the warm sidewalk, cars wizzing past him as they made their way home for the day. He heard the door reopen behind him after a few seconds.

Onyx turned into an alley, the sunlight cut off from all but above. He smelled the odor of rot and sewage as the cooled air began to wisp around him. He stopped in the center of the alley and waited, his ears waiting for a tell tell flap of clothing of or some other sign.He took out a pack of Marlboro and set one in his mouth, lighting it with the flourish of a Zippo lighter his father had given him.He felt as the smoke smoldered in his body and made his muscles loosen.He heard a garbage can bang into the ground and he sucked deeply from the cigarette.The figure wore a ragged brown jacket, covered with stains ranging from red to a soiled brown, Underneath the coat he had a red T-shirt stained in the same fashion.It was Roger.Onyx grinned and waited as he approached slowly.

Roger's face was taunt and his eyes looked hollow as he stared in some sort of hope at Onyx's bag of powder. He took from his torn and stained pants a battered and beaten wad of green bills.Roger held out the money eagerly, eyeing the bag of cocaine that Onyx held temptingly in his hand.Onyx took the bills from Roger and counted them slowly and carefully.He noted a blood stain on one of the twentys and continued counting.Five hundred dollars.He looked up to Roger and gave him a nod as he handed him a small bag of the stuff.Roger's eyes lit as he saw it.He took it from Onyx and quickly made his way from the immediate area, eager to use it after so long. Onyx flicked his spent Marlboro ciggarette into a nearby trash can and walked out of the alleyway, five hundred dollars richer. He whistled the tune once more as he walked down the street, wondering where to hide his new stash.

Ch.5
Location:Undisclosed Area 92
Nocab looked into the small transparent chamber, bile rising into his throat as he felt it suck him in. The room around him glowed with a dark blue, the walls shifting and moving as if flowing into and through the ceiling. The prison sucked him into its hold and with a sickening thud the door slammed shut, the bars sliding into place and locks twisting into place with dulls thuds.

Nocab felt his lungs empty as he screamed.
He clawed at glass around him, his screams resonating throughout his mind.
The cube began to slide, shrinking back until his face was pressed against
the glass and his back in the same condition. He looked down to see gas slowly creep up his legs, its presence sucking sound from the air. All he heard was the hiss. The green gas licked at his chin, it's chill freezing his mind. He stood,deaf and dumb as the gas consumed him, mind and soul.

Nocab bolted up from his bed and loked around, sweat making his clothing mold to his body. The room around him remained dark as he fumbled to switch on the lamp next to his bed. The room was revealed to be a red and blue painted room, looking very much like the room he had once had years ago at age fifteen. As Nocab's heart began to slow and he looked around himself he noticed his roomate staring at him.

"What...the...fuck..."He said slowly as he rubbed his eyes.

"Just another dream."The roomate nodded his head in aknowledgement and rolled over.

"Get some sleep before I hear the fuckin' buzzer go off." As if on cue a buzz sounded from the ceiling followed by a room number.

Nathan looked over at Nocab. "I really do hate you....you know that right?" Nocab nodded solemnly and slowly got out of bed, wishing he had been able to sleep longer.

As his feet hit the cold floor he shivered and hurried to the closet on the far side of the wall to put on his uniform. The uniform consisted of an air tight suit that was nearly skin tigh and filtered the air for him to breathe, looking more or less like a jumpsuit. As Nocab finished putting on the suit he repeated the number to himself. 216. 216. 216.

Nathan leaned up against the wall. With his uniform on, he looked ready to work. But, a quick look at his face revealed that he was still half asleep. Nocab nodded and Nathan opened the door. They both walked out into the dimly lit hallway, a stark contrast from the room they had just left.

It had reminded Nocab of a mix between a hospital and a bunker when he first walked the halls. Now he took it for granted as he navigated his way down deeper into the complex, the only sound to be heard the clicking of his and Nathan's shoes.

Nathan stopped in front of the appropriate room and waited for Nocab to catch up. Nacob reached the door and gently pushed it open. Dr.Dawson sat in his swivel chair, a bottle of liquor at his side as he turned to see his visitors.

"Nathan......Nacob....."he whispered after taking a slug of the amber liquid.
The room was a small rectanglular office,measuring no more than twenty feet by twenty five,with white tiles covering all but the ceiling. The small work space took up a corner next to the door, the Plexiglass cell located agains the the back wall.The Plexiglass box was the only source of light, ignoring the body that lay within it as if it were but a chair with someone within it.

Nacob looked over the Doctor's shoulder and searched the screen for the information he needed. His eyes eventually found the conditions within the glass. 98% Oxyegen,2%Other, the other reffering to a mix of the gas used in the test and several other random gasses Nocab didnt bother to read.

He looked away from the computer and walked to the glass doorThe body lay face down on the ground, rivelets of blood streaming out from under it. As a the panel embedded in the door flashed green, he opened it with a shaking hand, Nathan at his back.

From his pockets Nathan took a bag that had been folded an unknown amout of times and gently began to unfold it. After several moments it could be seen for what it was....A bodybag. Nacob walked into the room, Nathan following on his heels as they each took opposite ends of the body and began to stuff it into the bag.

Nacob saw the expanded, red eyes, the swollen tounge that nearly glowed blue, and the pale skin stained in its own blood.As the last part of the male's body dissapeared into the bag it was quickly sealed shut and hauled away from the site of it's death.When the the door thudded shut a cascade of water slid down the glass walls,washing away the blood.

Dawson stared at the bag and then sipped from the bottle, finding to his surprise that it was empty. He sat it down and nodded to the two other men as they hefted the bag out of the sad grey room and into the same little hallway.The body weighed no more than a child, perhaps no more than eighty pounds of bone and skin.

They carried the corpse until they reached the Morgue.They opened it to find a man with white hair and thick glasses leaned over his desk, typing rapidly. Unlike the office of Dr.Dawson, the Morgue was a bleached white and very well lit. The man looked up from his computer and saw the black bag.

He got up from the desk and motioned for the two to follow him. They dragged the bag behind them as they went deeper into the room. When they took a left the section they entered had walls of cabinets that held behind them others that had been carried through the door in the same fashion as the one in the black bag. The white haired man stopped in front of one cabinet and waited for Nathan and Nacob to catch up. He slid it open and waited as they set the bag into the slot.

And with nothing more, the man walked away from both of them, a silent dismissal. As Nacob followed Nathan out the door ,those little red eyes looked into his mind. They stared into his mind and waited. What did humans know of life and death?

Ch.6

Location:Rusian-Georgian Border,1999.

[i]Logan clenched the M44 rifle tightly in his hands, the house shook violently and the windows rattled as artillery landed around the house. Three other soldiers knelt beside him, each looking towards him for orders.
They couldn't stay here. The artillery was zeroing in on them. They had to escape. Petrov radioed screamed into the radio.

"Алфавитная Команда придавлена! Отступление теперь!"

Logan crawled to the window and surveyed the scene. The house opposite of him was engulfed in flames, the snow falling around it giving it a sense of serenity.A nearby shell slammed into the ground and rocked Logan back to his senses. There was an alley between the burning house and its neighbor. They would take that and run until they could find a defendible position. He set a small charge onto the front door and primed two smoke grenades.The door burst apart as the C-4 went off.

"ПЕРЕМЕСТИТЕ ДВИЖЕНИЕ ДВИЖЕНИЯ"!

He threw both grenades and ran as the white street filled with dark black smoke. Gun chatter broke out as bullets slammed into the ground around them. A wet smack sounded and Logan heard Radcov scream and hit the dirt. Logan shot through the alley and slammed into the back gate of the burning house. Fishing for C-4 he looked over his shoulder to see his two remaining men throwing the last of their Frag grenades into the gunfire and running towards him. He planted the C-4 and flattened against the ground as the charge went off. A hole was blown through the fence, revealing beyond it a forest no more than fifty meters away.

From behind him his two remaining men screamed as a machine gun ripped through them. He sprinted for the protection of the woods, feet pounding as he neared the cover. A root caught his foot and sent him sprawling face first into the red snow. He pushed himself up and heard a crack under his hand. A white hand sat in the snow, its fingers spread and the only feature on them being that of an emerald ring. He saw a rough reflection of himself in the small stone.

A greying beard grew where there hadnt been one before. A scar ran up the side of his cheek from a month ago. The ring looked so familiar. So calming and reassuring. A moment late he realized that it had been his wifes ring. He had gotten it for her years before. His gaze fell back to the village he had just escaped. More fires had broken out since he had last looked. Dark shadows shifted in the snow behind him as he looked around him. With a yell he grabbed the hand and threw it into his pocket. He was running deeper into the forest so that he might escape the place where he was born.[/i]

Waller County,Houston Texas,Present Day
Logan Petrovsky awoke in his bed, sweat beading on his forehead and breath coming out in short bursts. He was in his warm bedroom, the alarm clock on his bedside table reading 4:20 in the morning. Petrovsky slowly made his way out of his bed, sliding on his robe and shuffling into the bathroom. He flipped on the lights and looked at his face in the mirror to see the scar that still layed on his cheek, softened only by age. Logan was fifty five years old and he felt it in his bones. He washed his face, letting the cold water drip down his face. Logan wiped his face off and went back to his room and opened up his armoir. Inside hung his holy vestments. Logan took off his house robe and put the black robe on, draping the red shawl over his shoulders with care. He walked back into the bathroom and over to a small silver plate. Next to the plate sat a small book of matches. Logan took one from the book and stroke the match and watched as it flared up and then settled to a slow fire. Logan swirled the match in a circle, mumbling his morning prayer. The match sputtered out and he touched it to his forehead. He set the match down in the silver platter and rose. Why had the matched died so quickly? Logan got ready to leave, pondering what was to be seen as a bad omen.

Ch.7
Don lay comfortably in a dark warm place, his mind empty as he enjoyed the silence and solitude. So peaceful and quiet...A bright flood light popped on in from of his eyes, radio static scratching in his mind. He looked around and saw fragments of stained glass littering the red carpet around him, sparkling madly in the glow of light, the walls glowed yellow as the sun began to set outside. A voice broke out over the radio's hiss, a shrill giggling laugh that pitched and swayed as it sang.
"The eyes the eyes the little red eyes, they roll and they toll and watch as man dies!
They're mouths hang open and cry for meat, the only sound they make is the shuffling of their feet. They moan and scream as they watch you move, just wondering of the meal that you'll soon prove. Scream little Donny scream, because your the only one who thinks this is a dream."The radio cut dead silent and all Don could hear were the screams and the fire...

Don sat bolt upright in his bed, a scream stifled in his throat as his eyes darted around the room. The same leather chair sat in the corner of his room, the same painting stood on the wall over the same table. He looked down at his hands to see them shaking. Slowly, he laid back in his bed and stared at the ceiling, letting the quiet room calm him. His pulse slowed and his hands settled, but his mind kept playing over the dream in his mind, the screeching voice and the burning fires. He slowly raised out of his bed and made his way to the kitchen, the grandfather clock in the hallway tolling three times and falling silent. The kitchen was pitch black, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. Don flicked on the kitchen light and the tile floors glistened. He wouldn’t be going back to sleep…might as well start his day. He flicked on the radio above the sink and began to fix a cup of coffee, the sounds of guitars and fiddles mixing with the bubbling pot. The music slowly faded into silence as Don poured his mug full and sat at the kitchen table, his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. He felt weak. His arms trembled as his vision slowly faded out, blurring into a grey smudge. He felt the blood pump in his wrists. Why wouldn’t the nightmares go away…why did they keep coming back? His son….that stupid shit…why did he leave…He knew what would happen….he fucking knew….But he had left with his colleagues, like every other scientist looking to make a name for himself, to see and investigate the Noobirium Virus that had grown increasingly more widespread in Southern Africa and around the world. The video played in his head, of a small town, all but abandoned. A row of corpses laid out upon the street, pale and cold, each one almost uniform in character with their dead white skin and bile blackened lips. The camera panned down the line of corpses, making sure to show the world the product of the virus. An occasional bite mark or noticeable wound marked most as the camera took care to catch each face. A little old woman, a tall man, a child. One after another, the camera focused on each dead face moving down the line, finally reaching the end and focusing on the pale face of a man in his twenties, a red gouge in his throat the point of focus. But Don’s eyes focused on the face, a scar above the eyebrow, a bent nose, and those cold blue eyes filmed over with white. The nose was from a bar fight at age 19,the scar from a more innocent smack into a sign. Don knew this because he’d had to go to the hospital on both occasions. It was Johnny…his only son. Don felt a tear slip down his face and hit the table. He slowly let his forehead rest on the table, a puddle of tears slowly growing. The radio’s sounds slowly returned to his ears, cheerful and spry, and his vision slowly began to return, colors blurring back into focus and shapes. He raised his head to see Nick sitting across the room,staring at him calmly.
“What are you looking at?”Don snarled as he wiped at his face.
“Oh nothing….”he stood up and filled a mug full of coffee,sitting opposite of Don and letting his hazel eyes rest on Don. A silence fell over the room, broken only by the shrill screech of a fiddle until the music died down, replaced with an announcers voice.
“We have received a report from Nevada that Noobirium virus has reached the North American Continent. A family in Austin, after noticing violent and self destructive actions, locked him into a room and called paramedics. Soon after he was diagnosed with the Noobirium Virus in its starting stages and the house and immediate area put under quarantine. Stay posted as new information becomes available. This is Fox News.”The radio went silent and Don stared into space and felt his lips form seven words.
Nick smiled.
“Time to wake up Mr.Corleone…this is no dream.”Don stared at him dully, stood up and walked to the cabinet. Opening a door he pulled out a bottle of amber liquid which he began to liberally use to fortify his coffee. This wasn’t a dream…

wall of text needs to be torn down east germany style

lol!

I can't wait to see how Onyx reacts to being a drug dealer!

^.^ douch....BAG!!!!><

Lord Pheonix wrote:wall of text needs to be torn down east germany style

whant me to *gets hammers, axes, jackhammers and backhows(sp)* i can do it right now

how did he go from smoking a malboro to a camel?

very good again don keep them coming (=

team dfc wrote:how did he go from smoking a malboro to a camel?

lol and i said yes to all of it pie man...but serisously cocaie is the richmans drug so if i contunied selling i would be rich ass hell

my name was no where in this.....it sucks ::

dont feel left out...... im not in it either!!!

jamiesway wrote:my name was no where in this.....it sucks ::

dont put her in..........

i pray for you if you do..........

Angry Bear wrote:

jamiesway wrote:my name was no where in this.....it sucks ::

dont put her in..........

i pray for you if you do..........

i agree with that bilco