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Michael Redmtion

by Anthony Sanders about a year ago in monster
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A new start by Anthony sanders

Michael Redmtion
Photo by Jonathan Roger on Unsplash

StartMultiverse theory said that every possible action, ever, has happened in some world. By this logic, all worlds thrived at some point, and all worlds must die. The gods made humans to give life to those worlds, but they made the destroyers to clean up the mess. Now it's our turn.

I was lucky enough to be chosen to help, but just because you get chosen doesn't mean it's nice. I walk down the main street on a cold December night when I happen to look over to see a familiar sight. It's a halfling eating a corpse. The stench tells me it had been there a while, and its shadow looks reptilian. It turns to me and steps into the streetlight to reveal it is a litren. They're ravenous beast born from viruses that give them reptile skin and teeth, this one seems to be advanced, given that it has a tail.

Even though I hate what I must do in this life, being a tether for the gods has its advantages, but that doesn't mean I can't be surprised as it speaks, "Listen here, boy, you can't save them all." The shock wasn't the words but that it was a clear resonant voice, a voice that sounds scarily familiar. Hearing the voice prompts me to ask, "What the hell is that suppose to mean?" He points at me with his bent scaly finger. "You know what I mean, blondie." He then let out a decrepit laugh. His laugh, just mocking me, I lost it. I rush him, plunging my fist through his chest.

I pull my hand back, disgusted and frustrated. The beast falls to the ground with a smile on his face, the god damn nerve. To smile in a world as fucked as ours. I sling most of the gunk off my hand and coat sleeve. The rest I wipe on my button-down; I then turn to leave when fuckface himself shows up. By that, I mean The Perfectionist; his powers are to cast a perfect aura on weapons and himself. That makes them do their one task perfectly. Not only that, but he's the leader of The Ones.

They are a group of all the people who were gifted pretty powers. They look human and can't oppose him; they offer so-called protection to the regular people from the other uglier chosen few. He walks up to me with his perfect smile, chiseled body, and his black tights. He's a fucking joke. He stops in front of me and asks a stupid question "Can you help me?" I run my hands through my hair, looking up while taking a breath, "HELL NO!" I then turn to walk away. He grabs my arm, and I turn to see the sincerity in his face as he asks, "Please?"

I lean into him. "I know your hearing works, so fuck off, you fat piece of shit." I pull my arm back and head down the road. I'm heading to a magic club that only comes out on a new moon. I'm hoping to find a lead on where I can find the tower of divines. I turn down the sixth street to see a line of people leading to where I need to be. When you have people stronger than jets, a magic club isn't a stretch, but I don't have time to wait. I walk up the line to the front, and to say the least, and it pissed everyone off.

Right as I turn to tell them to piss off, Fuck face walks by, getting their attention. The Perfectionist stopped and said, "I can get you in if you want to talk. I turned to look at the crowd, and with a sick feeling in my soul, I agree. He shows them his pass, and we walk in. the place is crawling with low-class gifted fucks. That and naked women, half the appeal is the sex, the other is the potions you can get. Fuckface turns to me, "What could you need from here?" I put my face in my hand. "Didn't I tell you not to butt in? Let's just get a table so I can turn down your stupid proposal."

We find a spot near the back so we can talk in some privacy. He begins, "Let's talk about Heather, shall we, and what happened three years back. What do you say, Michael?" I look at him solemnly. "There's nothing to talk about; I just lost the most important fight of my life. That's it." He leans back, "I know that's why I want to give you a rematch, of sorts. Or you can keep rummaging around in filth like this." I look at him confused, "You are telling me none of your freedom cunts can handle a bad guy. That's what this is about; why don't you simply perfect gun his ass to death."

Then suddenly, he gets sincere again, "It's not a bad guy, it's the bad guy, and his forces are already here." I stand up and head to the door. He asks, "Where are you going?" I look back. "I don't need to be here anymore because we're fucked good now. But I'll help, for Heather, so let's go."


About the author

Anthony Sanders

Hello, it nice to be her. I was born to be a writer and poet. i have a published poetry book and I hope you enjoy my work here. One day I hope to be great.

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