HOBO Kyle - chapter 4

Dr. Gargoyle sat very still, perched in a tree overlooking the White’s farmhouse. The storm blew all around him. Wind whipped the branches and lashed at his face. Rain soaked through every layer of clothing, yet he was still.

The smells swirling in the night air were exquisite and horrible, and he cataloged all of them. Predominant over all was that of the Gonimi Mitera. A powerful emanation, especially at this close proximity, caused a deeply resonant longing in Gargoyle that he believed, and hoped, was long dead. Dormant memories and feelings welled up inside him, and the concentration of her pheromones only grew stronger the more excited she became.

Her adrenaline and sweat and tears, and the very breath of her screams made the air around the farmhouse like a vaporized liquor. Gargoyle inhaled the intoxicant with the sole purpose of gathering its chemical information, but the physiological response was undeniable.

His face reddened and his ears burned hot enough to evaporate the cold rain. Tributaries of steam roiled around his head. His pulse was an ever increasing drum beat in his fingertips. He swallowed oceans of saliva. His manhood swelled and expanded considerably, straining the seams of his pants. His eyes and hair began to glow a vibrant orange, and yet, despite all of this, he was still.

For Dr. Gargoyle, being a stoic was more than a philosophical decision, it was a biological necessity. Maintaining a detached lifestyle became his weapon against the instinctive urges that drove the others like him.

But tonight, that stoicism was being tested.

He understood the difficulty involved in placing himself this close to the Gonimi Mitera, not to mention the danger of placing himself in near proximity to Nerio and his complements. Thwarting the Covenant of Queue was always a risky play, but with Kyle unleashed and the possibility of neutralizing Nerio, the risk be damned.

Despite not being able to witness the actual scuffle, Dr. Gargoyle could tell that the fight was going well for Kyle. He could feel the energy of the combatants, hear their exchanges, and smell their adrenaline fluctuations.

Kyle was the result of centuries of experimentation and persistence, and all of that difficult work appeared to be finally paying off. The beast was only the first of Nerio’s monsters to feel a HOBO’s might.

Dr. Gargoyle remained still, but cracked a slight smile.

. . .

Ilva was no longer afraid of the beast. Even as it whooshed past her in another lunging attack.

Adristya is what the stranger had called it. And the fact that the monster could speak seemed to pale in comparison to the oddity of what it said, calling the stranger a hobo. The context was that of an insult, but Adristya appeared to be the offended party when the stranger affirmed. But these thoughts diminished with the fear, and she looked on with a growing interest, and delight, as the stranger fought.

The fighters were once again merged in a blur of movement. Ilva inched closer and her eyes widened and the color faded from them as the pupils grew into saucers. They darted in an erratic pattern as if she were trying to track a single wasp in a swarm. The motion of the brawl was inconceivable, yet she was able to see it all.

The tremendous and graceful power of the beast, Adristya, slowed in Ilva’s perception and she could see every calculation in its attack. The flex and release of every tendon and muscle. The control in its breath and the worry in its expression.

The hobo matched its every blow, deftly dodging and counter punching. He flowed from one maneuver to the next with ease and stability. The placement of his body and his strikes bordered on precognition.

The barrage ended when the hobo intersected Adristya’s forearm with his right elbow. There was a definitive snap and he punctuated the score with a solid crack to the beast’s left temple again.

Black blood pumped from Adristya’s left arm where both the radius and the ulna protruded. She dropped to one knee and wrapped her other hand around her skull. More blood began to trickle from both ears.

The pain she felt was a completely new sensation. It was confusing and infuriating. She stood once again and tried to ignore it, but it wasn’t going away. Adristya had been injured before, but she healed almost immediately, from even the most heinous injury.

Things were different now. The pain and the wounds lingered. She let out a loud, sharp bark in frustration.

The hobo flexed the fingers on his right hand. “Hurts don’t it,” he said.

Adristya barked again and rounded her shoulders, trying to ignore the discomfort and preparing for another round.

The hobo’s left arm bulged. A series of sinuous cords pulse just under the hard, darkened skin. His fist became a stone.

“That was nothin’,” he snorted, and raised the arm up so his opponent could get a good look, smiled again, and continued, “this one has all the BLOOD in it!”

The beast roared and grabbed its limp, broken arm and violently twisted it back into place. The wet crunch summoned a greater pain within Adristya and she roared once more, shattering the windows, framed pictures, and lightbulbs throughout the house.

With that, the hobo extended the obelisk of a middle finger on his massive left hand in an act of complete disrespect.

“Would you please shut the fuck up!” he added, and taking the offensive, quickly closed the distance to deliver a vicious uppercut to Adristya’s jaw with his monstrous left hand.

The beast’s head jerked up and back with a sickening snap. Her nose looped all of the way around to slam against her spine. A large section of bloody bulbous tongue tore free and splattered to the floor at Ilva’s feet. The skin under the chin flexed and split, exposing the soft tissues of the neck.

Another devastating blow to Adristya’s right flank pulverized multiple ribs, and her entire right side went limp.

She gurgled through the tear in her throat. Her eyes bulged with the unending surges of pain and uncertainty.

So long ago, Nerio told her that she would never feel pain again. He was so sweet and reassuring, and convincing.

Savor this pain my dear, it will be the last you ever taste of it...

The sensual sting of his bite was fire beneath her skin, and the exquisite pain of that all encompassing burn remained for several days while being transformed into her new perfection. The memory of that pain lingered always, but in the centuries since then, she had not experienced true pain, as Nerio had promised.

Now, this bastardized human garbage. This filthy Footling. This hobo had awakened these long dormant sensations with a strength and prowess she had never encountered.

Attacks and injuries were common and expected for any complement, it is the nature of violent things to be visited by violence, but nothing had ever harmed her to the point of pain. She would usually experience nothing more than annoyance or inconvenience, and any actual wounds sustained were healed almost instantly. She could feel the cellular repair of the trauma she had sustained, but it was working at a considerably diminished rate.

The pain triggered a cascade of latent biochemical responses in Adristya and chief among them was a surge of adrenaline. Her hunter’s instincts were always tuned high, keeping her awareness and reflexes peaked, but this was a lightning bolt to the central nervous system.

The hobo continued to pummel the beast when she suddenly stiffened and lashed out with a torrent of kicks and slashes. One lucky hit caught the hobo just right and sent him sprawling. The force of the impact also sent Adristya in the opposite direction.

The beast found her feet quickly, reached up and over her back with both hands, grabbed her lower jaw and yanked up and forward. With that horrific jerk, her head fell back into place. Black, frothy blood spilled from the tongue stump in the slack mouth.

Adristya rotated both arms, resetting the joints.

She breathed in deep creating a symphony of pops from the ribs and cartilage.

She rolled her head around her shoulders to a multitude of muffled cracks like icebergs breaking up.

The hobo had rolled out of his hit and landed in a defensive posture, then began to shuffle over to his bindle, all senses focused on the beast while she composed herself.

Dr. Gargoyle had not exaggerated the resiliency of this monster.

She had already taken a tremendous amount of punishment, much more than any other complement. But, none of the others Kyle had fought were flowing with Nerio’s lifeforce. Every step of the process had been more involved and more difficult than any previous encounter.

This Hunt had been drawn out for years and required an unrelenting force of will and a powerful reliance on instinct to succeed and Overcome. Engaging the beast in Battle had been arduous and protracted, despite maintaining the upper hand throughout. But, having manufactured doubt, confusion and fear in the mind of the beast, as well as a demonstrated capacity to cause harm, it was now time to Obliterate her.

Adristya pulsed with adrenaline fueled rage. She huffed and spat blood. The hobo knelt down by his bindle and sharply removed the grimy pole from the knotted cloth.

The pole itself was mottled and splattered with smears of dried food and other unidentifiable muck. He spun the pole around his hand like a propeller at a fantastic speed, then shifted hands, and brought it around his back, over his head, and then stopped with the pointed tip down and forward. The back end, which was topped with several large, deep threads like a mop handle, rested at his eye level.

In the blur of motion, the crud covering the pole seemed to disappear, revealing brilliant silver underneath. The weapon vibrated in the hobo’s hand and hummed at a low frequency.

Ilva had all but forgotten about the beast and was absolutely engaged with the hobo. The odd, mystical qualities that he exhibited were very nearly intoxicating to her. His presence was alluring and unapproachable at the same time.

“Please don’t stare at me,” he said, flicking his eyes to meet hers for an instant.

With that, Ilva lowered her gaze.

And, in a move of pure puzzlement, Adristya also shifted her glowing eyes away, just for a second, then immediately realized what had happened, re-centered and roared in anger. She could not believe the physical, and now psychological, affect the hobo was having on her, and it pissed her off.

“Footling wretch!” Adristya barked.

The hobo simply nodded in response.

Ilva held her breath.

The beast dug in again and bellowed: “Die, hobo abomination!”

“It’s HOBO KYLE, dumbass!” he yelled back.

At this, Adristya charged. Staying low this time, on all fours like an animal. She hoped a change of tactics would provide an opportunity for victory.

But Kyle was ready. Vrykes were nothing if not predictable, and Adristya despite her size and reputation was no different.

She attacked the lower middle and Kyle quickly jumped back, simultaneously avoiding the strikes and rounding the backend of the silver pole down with a sharp tang against Adristya’s skull. He continued with a spin, delivering another blunt strike to the side of her neck, then spinning the pole again to further abuse the underside of her weakened chin.

The beast’s spirit writhed with the internal anguish of defeat, having been countered and injured at every turn, but she pressed the attack nonetheless. She tried to over-telegraph her blows in an effort to deceive, but Kyle was always ready with a dodge, block, or opposing blow. She over-stretched her swipes with the intent of catching him unawares with an errant elbow, but Kyle juked and twisted like a spring, wielding a hardened silver pole.

Ilva watched with purpose and joy. Still holding her breath. Her heart was beating out of her chest. Hearing Kyle’s name sparked a knowing within her. A familiarity that she couldn’t quite pinpoint but was somehow comforting. She delighted in Kyle’s agility at dismantling of the beast’s offense and his masterfully executed assaults.

Adristya’s frustration and fatigue were growing and obvious, and in a move of pure desperation, she committed to one last lunge with all four sets of claws aimed at the hobo.

If nothing else maybe she would crush him.

Kyle knew the pounce was coming. It was pure instinct kicking in, and he had seen the move many times before. He had been waiting for it.

But, instead of rolling under the attack, as Adristya was undoubtedly hoping, Kyle leapt up and over the beast, in a graceful arc. The maneuver was too fast and too unexpected for Adristya to adjust. All she could do was howl and bleed when Kyle dug the point of the silver pole into the base of her neck as he passed over.

The tip of the pole slid into the flesh without resistance, shattered the first vertebrae it encountered and followed a path down along the spinal column, decimating the entire backbone in a single stroke. When the pole had run the complete length of the beast, and as Kyle approached the ground again, he yanked forward to pull the shining weapon free from the beast’s body.

A horrible ragged chasm opened in Adristya’s back. Splinters of bone and wet gore sprayed from the wound as the pitiless monster fell to the floor with a thud and a whimper.

Adristya began to twitch gently. Only her eyes moved, back and forth in panic. It was the only thing she had left. Her ability to reason went with her spine.

Kyle approached the prostrate animal and unceremoniously thrust the bloody spear into the beast’s anus. The pink flesh popped like a grape as the pole penetrated the rectum, intestines, stomach, liver, and heart.

The beast let out a squeak and her left eye bulged just as the point of the pole pushed through it from the inside.

Kyle released his grip on the weapon, leaving it inside the monster, stood up straight, and crossed his arms over his chest in an X. He clenched his fists, closed his eyes and lowered his head.

Several silent words oozed from his mouth.

They were gentle and unknowable.

Ilva thought it may have been a prayer of some kind. A show of respect for a fallen foe perhaps.

Then, Kyle threw his head back and his mouth opened into a silent smiling scream. Ilva gasped, cupping her face.

The hobo’s fists trembled and slowly the index and pinky fingers on both hands extended, forming a pair of “devil horns”.

A moment later, Adristya burst into flames. Bright blue fire consumed her in a matter of seconds. The shockingly loud roar and instant heat pushed Ilva back and singed the light hair on her arms.

The blue fire subsided as quickly as it had arisen, leaving only a dark scorch mark on the floor and the silver pole. No remains, no ashes, no evidence.

Kyle retrieved his weapon, walked back over to the bindle and began to rummage through its contents.

Ilva breathed properly for the first time since this whole fiasco began. She tingled with life and the relief of having somehow survived the ordeal, thanks to Kyle. She watched him rifling around in the large cloth bag. He was taking various items out and shaking the water off of them. The bindle was near the hole where the door once was and the rain had soaked it. He was annoyed and seemed to give no pause or concern as to what he had just accomplished.

Ignoring her propriety, she ran over to Kyle and wrapped her arms around him. He stopped his activity and just remained still. Ilva squeezed him and whispered “thank you” over and over in a soft voice. She reached up and turned his face to meet hers and began to kiss him, deeply. His moustache tickled her nose but she did not break away. She had to do this. She had to share this affection regardless of reciprocation.

“Knock it off you two.” A loud booming voice cut through the night, the storm, and the moment.

Ilva broke away, startled by the intrusion. She took a few steps back and touched her lips, absorbing the warmth that still lingered there.

Kyle stood and wiped his mouth with his arm.

A powerful silhouette emerged from the darkness and entered the destroyed threshold of the farmhouse.

The large, imposing figure stepped into the light and Kyle bowed his head.

Ilva felt somewhat uneasy as the man approached. His rain matted hair and beard were an unnatural orange color, and appeared to radiate with an inner light. His face and ears burned red like an overexcited child. Knowing hazel eyes scanned and understood everything in an instant.

He wore what looked like a lab coat, but was made from white leather, and was well worn. A plain black shirt and mustard yellow pants peaked out from the coat, and the look terminated in large brown boots.

The man clapped Kyle on the shoulder with a large meaty hand.

“Well done,” he said. Kyle nodded in recognition.

Ilva stepped forward to greet the new stranger who was clearly a friend of Kyle’s, or at least familiar to him.

The new stranger quickly held up a hand to her and she halted.

“Please stay back,” he ordered. His hand trembled ever so slightly. He swallowed hard and turned his head away from her.

Ilva chuffed and let her hands fall to her side with exasperation. Clearly she played a part in whatever was going on and needed to be included.

The man continued to speak with his hand still raised, but he did not look at her.

“Young miss, my apologies, I wish we had the time to make appropriate explanations, but time is short. I am Doctor S. R. Gargoyle and you’ve already been acquainted with my… associate, Kyle.”

“HOBO Kyle,” Kyle corrected.

Dr. Gargoyle nodded approvingly at him. “Damn right.”

Ilva smiled in Kyle’s direction. The moment of levity was a welcome relief.

Her influx of feelings caused a release of fresh, pungent pheromones and Dr. Gargoyle stiffened. His stoic nature was showing more tiny cracks, but despite the overwhelming urges that resonated in his very cells, he was still.

After a beat he realized that a direct line was necessary and slowly turned to face Ilva.

He lowered his hand finally and spoke in a soft, controlled tone, holding back a tidal wave of instinctive impulses.

“Your safety is vital, Miss White. We are here to ensure that safety.” He swallowed hard again and struggled to maintain eye contact. “But, you must try to control your emotions. They are… problematic to our situation.”

Ilva cocked her left eyebrow, the confusion on her face was unmistakable.

Kyle was oblivious to the conversation. He had removed a clean shirt from his bindle and was pulling it over his head.

Dr. Gargoyle opened his mouth to continue, but Ilva interjected.

“Look, sir, er… Doctor. I am very grateful that you all were here tonight to save me from that… thing,” she motioned to the scorch mark on the floor that used to be Adristya. “But, what in the actual fuck are you talking about?”

Dr. Gargoyle indicated again that he was going to speak, but Ilva continued.

“And how exactly am I supposed to control my emotions? There is some seriously weird shit happening here… ”

“Your frustration and confusion are understandable, but… “

Ilva stepped forward and cut him off. “I wasn’t finished. I appreciate you saving my life and I know that I am out of my depth, but I need to know… “

Dr. Gargoyle raised his hand again, and interrupted, again. “Explanations will be forthcoming, I assure you, but now is simply not.. “

“Godammit! Don’t patronize me!” Tears welled up in Ilva’s eyes. This exchange reminded her so much of the condescending conversations she would have with her brothers and the father. They never saw her as anything other than a child, trying desperately to protect her from everything. They never realized how damaging their protection was. The memory of it bubbled up a bitter hate, but the guilt of their horrible deaths flooded in regret, and love.

Her tears flowed freely. Dr. Gargoyle could feel everything that was churning inside her and it fed him, and nearly paralyzed him.

Behind them Kyle gave a quick, sharp whistle. Dr. Gargoyle and Ilva broke away from their episode and gave him their full attention.

Kyle was staring out into the night, his focus unbreakable. He lightly tapped his right ear and held up two fingers. Then dropped his wrist, pointing his fingers down. Gargoyle grunted an affirmative response.

Ilva wiped her face and gestured in protest. Her exclusion was being compounded by the second. The continued lack of clarity boiled her blood.

“Assholes! What the fuck is going on?”

“Something else is coming,” Dr. Gargoyle said.

Ilva jerked and motioned to the scorch mark again. “What? Another one those?”

Dr. Gargoyle reached into a pocket of his coat and produced a small syringe filled with bright pink fluid. He tossed it to Kyle, who caught it and immediately jabbed himself in the chest.

“No,” he replied, “something much worse.”