Machination of Horrors (Death Slinger short story)

timbologna

Air in the saloon hung still, like there was no oxygen, just tobacco smoke from a previous reality, frozen in a timeless place to remind those of the vices that came before. Phantom notes played on the Grand Piano, no musician in sight. Was there actual music coming from this instrument's keys or was this a cruel illusion to offer false respite to ward off the eventual apathy? A rhetorical question. It didn't matter- not here; not anymore.

A tall man stood in the center of the room surveying the scene splayed before him. Two corpses long since human were slumped over a card table. Another cruel illusion, he thought. There's no death here. I'm proof of that. His eyes; white apparitions no longer an actual part of his physiology glimmered brightly about. He knew the bar was empty, no creature comforts for this creature. Still though, he wished for just a sip of whiskey to dull the pain in his leg. He'd managed to repurpose the straps and braces of a saddle to mend his injury but he knew this pain would be infinite. What sent him here...would make sure of that.

A spark of frustration rose up through his chest and hovered in his throat; what had he done besides avenge his manipulation? A low guttural chuckle leaked from him. Heh...heh...heh. Always someone's pawn. He wished the boy's were here to lift his spirit. Their loyalty was unwavering, even when morality did.

Soft footsteps from outside snapped him immediately out of his thoughts...and humanity. He knew what that meant. His eyes surveyed the cracks in the wall to see the silhouette of a figure hunched and slowly walking away. "No you don't you little Jackal. I wasn't sent here for you. You were sent here for me" He thought as he readied his machination. The wall here was weak, he knew it by now. This was his little cage to feed and he knew every corner.

Stomping up to the wall he brought the butt of his gun into it hard. After the second hit it brought him face to face with a man...no a boy. Wide eyed and backing away. Heh...heh...heh He raised his gun and fired, a red hot rail spike piercing through the kid. The boy screamed and tried to pull it out but his machine was...perfected with practice. He smiled as he gripped his reel and pulled the screaming kid closer. My pain...your pain. He thought as he relished bringing his blade into the boy's gut. His vision so focused he didn't even notice the apparition fast approaching with some sort of baton in hand. As the boy became close enough to feel the tall man's hot breath on his face he saw a light climb from the bastard's chin to his gleaming white eyes. The man's smile quickly cracked into disgust as he held his hand defensively in front of his eyes. "You bastard's" he thought. "You'll all pay!"

Once he regained his vision the boy was gone. Occasional blood pools directed him where to go but the distance to cover was great. As he marched as quickly as his leg would allow he heard a gut wrenching sound. The obnoxious beeps fast approached as he did.. just in time to see the large metal door slide open and the "rat's" scurry out. They smiled at him and descended beyond. "No! It wasn't my fault! It was that vermin!" He thought defensively; still though the fog rolled in. Tendrils erupted from the ground and closed around him piercing his skin and cutting off circulation. His vision became obscured by the heavy fog rolling in and as the pain intensified his sentience gave way to a singular entity. One void of humanity or concerns of emotion or purpose.

He awoke feeling...odd. His pain in his leg was gone. Replaced by a grinding and whirring sensation. He felt heat rising from his chest and looked down. His undershirt had been torn off him. He felt his heart rise up in his throat to scream but only that guttural chuckle came out. Where there should have been a torso there was only the shredded remains of one. Gears whirred tenaciously and steam shot from between them. He looked like one of those steam locomotives. Fleshly loosely hung over top, obscuring part of the machinations within him but not enough to hide the horrific reality before him...within him.

He raised his arm to further asses and saw pistons fire where his muscles should be. Erupting steam with each thrust. He stood up and extended his leg where the trouser had been torn. More of the same, where a thigh should be there were two rods with a hydraulic pump between them. He took a practice step expecting that sharp pain to return but only steam came from the leg, no pain.

Horror turned to awe...what genius. He felt ashamed he hadn't tried such a daring feat before. His line of sight shifted to a field of corn and a ..boy. The boy looked at him with horror; a different horror then their previous encounter. He no longer cared of their reaction. He owed it to the machinist that perfected him to show the genius of his idea. Marching forward he didn't ready his weapon. He learned it's limits from last encounter and this was personal. The boy weaved through the corn like a rabbit juking through brush but the man's focus was sound. He was now close enough, he brought up his gun...his redeemer and thrust it through the boy's back. He jerked it out rudely and watched the boy fall, now groaning and quickly being surrounded by his own crimson fluid. "Heh...heh...heh" The man chuckled to himself. He heard clicking nearby and chuckled again. A stocky man arrogantly waved him over. Torch in hand. Perhaps this would have vexed the tall man before but things are...different. He stilled himself and watched as the man brought up the flashlight. The baton came to life and light erupted from it. The tall man shifted and jerked up his gun firing a red hot tendril directly into the punk's chest. "Heh...heh....heh" It wasn't humor anymore, he no longer felt satisfaction from this. Only like a machine serving it's purpose. He pulled the man in, steam whirring with each pull. The man cried in agony and horror at the steam powered specter before him, red hot gears whirring under torn flesh. It's white hot eyes penetrating his. His vision diminished as he neared closer, feeling the ambient heat turn into a humid burn as the steam and red hot gears nearly pressed against his flesh. A red hot bayonet flashed before his eyes and he felt a white hot pain as it penetrated his abdomen. He only heard the sizzle of flesh and saw smoke waft up from the gun's barrel. Everything went dark and the pain subsided. He awoke with familiar strangers around a campfire and the distant memory of a haunting chuckle. He shuddered and focused on the fire. It's all that mattered to him in this moment.

timbologna

Kinda just spammed this off after a match, apologies for any typos or out of context words.

timbologna

Feedback would be appreciated.

MeltingPenguins

I really liked it, up to the body horror part, if I'm honest. But that's a matter of taste. Technical stuff would only be maybe some more paragraphs for emphasis on some lines, but again, that's subjective.

SCP_FOR_DBD

This was very enjoyable, nice job!

Raven014

Great job! It reads very well, and it contains the essence of who the Deathslinger is.

timbologna

Thank you guys! I'd kill for a steampunk slinger, I figured this is as close as I'll get though