Mutilator from the Grave (9 page)

Whoever it was in the mask and suit laying waste to his men, they were contradicting the age old saying of never bringing a knife to a gun fight.

His intruder must have been packing some resilient body armour under his suit, the amount of bullets he was bombarded with from every angle, turning him into a walking cylinder would have sent him dropping dead by now. He kept walking and massacring, showing no signs of slowing or stopping.

The most powerful weaponry loaded with highly destructive ammunition could not bring the steel faced mutilator down. He would keep on ticking, pushing through the crime lord's high defences, wiping out every last one to reach his target, the bringer of his own misery and his own death. Evengi would know how unbearable it was to face such eternal unrest, just like his fallen comrades had.

The night was becoming interesting. His intruder would likely be facing the boss himself in little time, and when he did, it would be the end of the line.

A shame he would have to kill someone like that, the threat clearly had some skill, he could have used a killer like him in his ranks. A pity his impressive talent would be squandered working against him.

Nobody was spared from the wrath of the vengeful shape terrorizing the club, they all had to suffer for being in league with the savage monster who laid waste to the innocent for his own gratification, they were just as low as their boss.

This was the life they chose, their own decision to be the scum of the earth, they had to be cleansed just like the cause of the disease dwelling in his throne room.

The masked bringer of death ventured into the back area of the nightclub, past the cover up, into the  actual truth, slaughtering more who stood in his way to claiming what was rightfully his, the life of their boss, the man they protected with their lives, throwing themselves at the face of their demise in the vain hope their leader would live.

The piles of slashed and mutilated bodies accumulated in the entire building was higher than Evengi's own genocidal campaigns against his enemies. The mutilator was a more vindictive and passionate killer than the crime boss ever hoped to be.

It wasn't long and the door to his office was booted open by his brutal visitor. Evengi applauded the masked assailant for making it this far, he had to congratulate him, no one had ever had the opportunity to stand face-to-face with the boss without an appointment. Now that he was there, the boss would fulfil his aspiration for a one-to-one with Evengi.

The steel avenger stepped forward, held the crimson blade out, rested it on Evengi's throat, his objective was obvious, he was going to kill him. But first, he would let the sadistic beast know who he was dealing with, stare into the true face of his death.

A powerful fist collided with the mutilator, the force of the blow sent him dropping onto the desk. It was a punch he was well acquainted with.

The hulking gangster, Evengi's personal bodyguard and muscle had not lost his hard edge over the two years. He had hardened it up tenfold, his strength and force was triple than it was that dreaded night.

The more things changed, the more it remained the same, history was repeating itself. Victor was knocked down from the devastating impact of the bulking Goliath, just as he was that night. Unable to fight back, on his knees at the mercy of the hulk.

Evengi laughed, taunting the defenceless assassin. His crusade to murder him had reached its end, he was dealing with the big fish here, not some punk with a gun. No one could stop him, not even his own father. Evengi was the criminal emperor of Russia's underworld, and some trained killer in a mask was not up to his imposing stature.

The crime boss aimed the colt single action army straight at the dank, hollow voids of the mask's eye holes. Looking death right in the face, Evengi was going to send him packing on a one way ticket to his desolate oblivion.

16

Victor could not let his road end with the same bitter defeat, he had failed his beloved Indria once before, he had no right to fail her again.

He was not weak, he was stronger than ever. He was not a mortal held back by his own flesh, he was a being that had transcended his own body, powered by his soul alone. The mutilator had defied the laws of nature for an important reason, he had come to this point, he would go further and accomplish his purpose.

The hammer was cocked, the bullet hovered in the barrel, anticipating the pull to send it firing out in a violent blast. Evengi would savour the sweet euphoria of decorating the wall of his office in his greatest adversary's brain matter.

He would have done, had he not underestimated the resilience behind the steel mask. He was not dealing with any ordinary man. As he found out.

The mutilator grasped Evengi's arm, the coldness of his gloved hands froze the crime boss' warm blood to ice. He rose from the desk and in one forceful push, broke every bone in Evengi's appendage, leaving his shooting arm useless.

The hulking thug went to counter the mutilator's attack on his boss, planned to take him down with his usual ease.

Victor was two steps ahead of the bulking mass of muscle. As the hulk went to grab his more sleeker masked opponent and crush every bone in his body, the mutilator used his advantage of speed over brawn to evade and avoid his towering enemy's slower, clunkier blows. The bringer of death had the upperhand, the fight was turning one-sided in his favour. Each missed punch sent the agile assassin closer to the window of the office, overlooking the club below. Backing right into it, the bulking gangster assumed it was a benefit for him. He would send him hurdling out the broken glass.

Victor predicted his brawny rival would think like that. He deliberately put himself at a disadvantage to present himself a clear advantage.

The gargantuan brute swung for his steel faced symbol of man's inevitable end, a conclusion which was coming for him. Victor dodged the clumsy strike and with his opponent's defences wide open, he sliced the machete at his neck.

The towering thug tumbled through the window with his head separating from his body. The decapitated remains fell onto the disco floor. That was the muscle taken care of, he too had faced the mutilator's justice.

Victor had only one final soul to judge and execute, the mastermind responsible for causing the catastrophe. In a way, Evengi had brought it on himself, had he not pulled the trigger that night, his creation would not have come back to get even on his creator. The crime boss did not understand what he was saying, his memory of the masked assassin's story was vague. He had killed many men and women, he had no idea what made this one so important.

The steel face burned with anger, his dry voice hissed with a scowling, venomous bile that was infecting his soul. He killed two young lovers, tore them apart, left them to rot. Now one of those wronged by his cruel malice was standing before him, prepared to make him pay the ultimate price for his heinous misdeeds.

Evengi found it preposterous, the dead could not rise from the graves, it was not some cheesy zombie movie, the masked man was full of shit. Victor would prove it to him. He removed the steel mask hiding his true face.

The crime lord's mouth dropped, emitting a silent gasp, it was unbelievable what he saw staring back at him, the decomposed face of a man long dead and buried with cold, dead eyes filled with a deep burning hatred for the man who stole everything he cherished from him. He never would have believed the dead could walk unless he had perceived it with his own two aghast eyes.

The night was shaping up to be more interesting than he thought.

The living hell he put Victor and Indria through would seem like a moment in heaven compared to what he had in store for the crime boss.

Not if Evengi had any say in it. Using his other hand, he grabbed the pistol and went to shoot him down. The mutilator threw the machete, the flying blade pierced through his shoulder, rendering his other arm inoperable.

The crime boss was done for, all he could do was sit on his throne and be dethroned by his hateful assassin.

Victor stood behind his disarmed adversary, reached in his suit jacket filled with holes. The item in question was luckily unscathed from the intense waves of bullets ripping holes through him. He pulled out a bottle of a green, clear liquid swiped from the chemistry class in the university that used to house some kind of significance in his past life.

He opened the bottle, a strong choking chemical smell flooded the office. Victor poured it over Evengi's head, the liquid ran over his face, suffocating him with its toxic aroma. The chemical hissed and singed on the crime boss' bubbling, blistering face.

The erosive acid was eating away at his skin, melting the layers of flesh down to the red tender muscle beneath it. The pain was legendary, intensified by Evengi having no mouth left to scream and let the torture out, he had to bottle it inside where it thrived, causing him a huge deal of discomfort.

He could feel himself decaying away, his flesh and skin was melting, dissolving into a putrid acidic smoke. The stink did not last for him as his nose was boiling and falling off his face. His lungs were clogged with the chemical, blocking any form of oxygen.

His face was washed away, leaving only the bare skull remaining. His eyes turned into an oozed goo that ran down the skeletal face like the yolk of an egg.

The skull faced body of Evengi slumped in his seat, justice had been served, his execution had been fully carried out. The filth of the earth had been erased.

17

The mutilator from the grave had fulfilled his promise to Victor and Indria, he had avenged the two lovers of their wrongful murder, absolved his own dirty hands of his past sins, made it up to them for his own vanity.

His troubled soul could finally find peace, the poison spewing in his veins had been administered the anti-venom. His internal pain had been subsided, the hatred rotting his heart and corrupting his soul had calmed.

The bringer of death stood at the graves of Victor and Indria, removed the two masks that expertly deceived the guilty. He gazed at the tombstones with his own eyes, unconcealed by the masks hiding his shameful appearance for two years. He remembered he had a name back then, one that meant little to him now, Egor. That was what they called him, the name of a pathetic lowlife who died two years ago.

After the deaths of Victor and Indria, he sank into a sea of guilt for two long years of hell, trapped in a prison of ageless despair, every minute of every day was spent drowning his sorrows with as much drugs and alcohol to rid himself of the insufferable pain, to blank out the fact that he was the cause of it all.

One night, he had a dream, one that was different from the vague, blurred images of an intoxicated man escaping the hard truth. The dream was clear and vivid, it was a message to him, from Indria herself.

His angel came to him from the other-side, as beautiful and pure as he recalled in his past. She smiled at him sweetly, told him not to mourn their loss. He was stronger than that, to endure the heartbreak of her rejection and the sorrow of her death, lesser men would have died at such a harrowing ordeal.

He lived on, there was a reason for that. Indria told him that he had the power to atone for his sins, to make things right for himself, to find the peace he desperately needed to lay his hounding demons to rest.

Indria caressed his sunken cheek, he could feel her hand print long after he awoke, it was as if she had actually reached out and touched him. She told him he was meant for happiness, he could make a difference in his existence, all he had to do was change, to become a new man, start a life anew for the better.

With a sweet smile, she drifted back into the blinding white light shining behind her back, she gave him her last words, they would meet again and be together, all would be forgiven in the afterlife. His redemption was the key.

Egor knew what he had to do to find his atonement. He rid himself of his helpless addiction, purged his body of their intoxicating effects. With a clear, focused mind, he buried his past, never to surface again. He faked his death, ending his old life which had no meaning anymore. In his eyes, Egor was dead the minute he saw Indria die in front of him. In his place, stood his new persona, a nameless man fuelled by one purpose, a goal he had to complete.

He could not strike fear into the hearts of the guilty without a symbol to terrify the punished, to make them beg for their lives, to drop to their knees and lament their crimes, to suffer at the highest peak.

He altered himself, became a phantom of death, a representation of vengeance. He assumed the role of Victor, brought back from the dead due to his lust for revenge, painting them a horrific picture of the everlasting excruciation they would face in the afterlife, the hell they would face at his cold hands would be like a slice of heaven to the hellish nightmare that he promised they would endure for eternity in death.