The Preying City

"What makes you think you can make me talk?" The owner stopped backing off and smiled at the young man who stood in front of him. His opponent acted as if he had already won. Just that attitude was enough to ignite his fighting spirit.

It was unfortunate that he was only a grade two missionary of d.e.s.i.r.e. If he was only a grade higher, he could manipulate the others to attack his opponent instead of just fighting each other.

Straightening his thoughts, he took a boxing stance. While it was true that his kind was physically weaker than most other supernaturals, anyone underestimating him would have trouble coming their way. He belonged to an organization that existed for centuries and each member went through hellish training. Unlike the other unaffiliated supernaturals who resembled more of a street ruffian, he was a well trained combatant.

"You want to box against me? That's fine by me." Vincent took the same stance and approached the owner.

A fist came flying to his face but he dodged it cleanly. Moving inwards, he unleashed a flurry of blows. Each of his blows were quick and heavy but the owner guarded his vitals surprisingly well. Enduring through the attacks, the owner kicked towards the young man's groin.

Forced to back off, Vincent moved back and observed his opponent. While the man was well trained and proficient in the art of combat, Vincent outclassed him in power, speed, and most importantly, physique. The owner had baited him into boxing and used a lethal kick. This showed that he was experienced but Vincent had never once thought that they would be boxing like two good sports. He wouldn't fall for such cheap tricks.

The owner closed the gap and threw one attack after another. Each targeting vitals such as the eyes, ears and groins. Vincent skillfully dodged the attacks. In his eyes, the quick, lethal attacks were nothing but slow movements. Grabbing the arm that was trying to poke his eyeballs, he clenched his fist and punched.

The owner was shell shocked. All the air in his lungs got knocked out. While he was indeed slower and weaker physically, the young man was nowhere near this quick. He had no idea when the hit had connected. All he knew was that his condition wasn't good. His mouth opened involuntarily to suck in a deep breath but he couldn't inhale. The pit of his stomach felt like it was burning.

Before he could recover, a fist landed on his temple. Unable to handle the impact, he fell head first to the floor. He was dizzy. He didn't know how but his ears were ringing as well.

'I almost blacked out in one hit. I can't fight him. But I am sure I can't outrun him as well. This is bad. The only thing to do now is to try and lead him to a trap while preserving my life.'

"Arghhhh!" A sharp scream escaped from him. Looking at his hand, he noticed that his pinky was bent in an unnatural angle . It was already starting to swell.

"Changed your mind about speaking yet?" Vincent moved closer and whispered into the ears of the man screaming in agony.

"F*ck you!" The owner cursed out in pain and anger. He hadn't even closed his mouth when he heard a snap.

Another wave of pain hit him and his second finger had been bent as well.

He wanted to curse but held back after recalling what the young man just did. Pulling his hand back, he held it with his other to ease the pain. Cold sweat began dripping down his face and he inched back slowly.

His back against the wall, his mind raced to think of a viable solution to get out of this sticky situation. The screams and shouts coming from the people annoyed him to no end. He couldn't think straight. The pain was only getting worse and his ears stung every once in a while.

"Don't worry. You still have eight more fingers. Even if I fail to make you talk till then, you still have 24 more ribs buy more time. I don't think you are resilient enough to last that long. Trust me when I say this. I WILL make you speak." The young man had a devilish smile on his face. It almost looked like he was enjoying it. "Now, let's hear your name."

The owner gulped and spoke in horror, "Cameroon Barrett."

"Are you a part of the seventh gate?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now tell me about the seventh gate."

"The seventh gate exists to open the ga...." Cameroon began wheezing like a dying old man.

Vincent, who had been listening with complete focus was alarmed. He was finally close to learning something and the man began showing abnormalities. He couldn't lose this lead. But before he could do anything to try and understand what was happening to the man, he was hit by a wave of fear.

Fear strong enough to render him immobile.

Rooted to the spot he was standing in, he could do naught but watch as a new pair of hands emerged from Cameroon's back. From small hands resembling those of an infant, they grew at an alarming rate. But as it grew, the man seemed to grow leaner and weaker. Before long, his cheeks had sunken in and his body had become nothing but skin and bones. The hands growing from his back however, had grown into hairy muscular limbs.

Vincent tried everything he could think of but he just couldn't drive away the fear gripping his heart. His body refused to move and laid prone on the ground. The others occupying the bas.e.m.e.nt reacted in a similar to Vincent. Many lost control of their bladder, some fainted right away while some lay there shivering on the pool of their piss as if they were n.a.k.e.d on the coldest day.

Cameroon struggled to move even a single muscle. The giant arm growing on his back had s.u.c.k.e.d him dry of his energy. Enduring the excruciating pain, he parted his lips and barely let two words out. "Help me...."

Even his eyelids started getting heavier and he could no longer muster enough strength to utter another word. He was helpless and in unimaginable pain.

The giant arms twitched a little. The fingers moved slowly and began learning the range of its motions. Step by step, it gained full control of itself.

Cameroon was aware of it. Though he couldn't control the arms, he could feel them moving. His eyes shook in fear as the palms circled around his shoulders. The right arm grabbed his chin while the left arm his right temple.

SNAP!

The man was dead before he could register what the arm was trying to do. His emaciated face still had a look of horror in them. His now dull and lifeless eyes reflected the light from the lamps. His thin frame looked like a withered tree that was about to collapse in the face of a hurricane. And without any surprise, he did fall.