Dark World: Collections Time

Part of the dark world series. Dark world is the collection of stories that are far more violent then the other stories and often have brutal beat downs, sadistic fights and unforgiving knock outs. Great for your looking for a fight with more gritty tones. All stories take place in the same world.

The alley stank of rust, oil, and rain-soaked trash. It was the type of alley people forget about, mostly on purpose. Like much in this city, one so perfect in "law and order", darkness swallowed most of it, save for the dim flicker of a busted streetlamp casting jerky shadows across the brick walls. Somewhere distant, sirens howled (when didn't they in this shit hole city?), but here, in this forgotten corridor of the city, there was only two sounds. The first was that of a crashing window, very messy, very expensive. The next, the slow crunch of footsteps on wet concrete. James stood with his back to the wall, having just been thrown threw a window into some long since abandoned factory. His chest was heaving, showing little sign of being able to recover. His nose was already broken, blood poured like thick ropes down his chin. One eye was nearly swollen shut, possibly even damaged beyond healing. But he, James,  still clenched his fists, knuckles white and raw, jaw tight in defiance. The fight would never go his way, but he be damned if he go quietly. Across from him, having now entered the building, Comhraic and Ben Nightfall approached with the patience of executioners. It was after all, their "sacred" calling.

“You had a chance to walk away,” Comhraic said, voice like the unforgiving deadly cold, so contrast to his code name... "To simply pay up and be done with it..."

Ben cracked his knuckles. “Too late for that now little bro, we have to collect!!” He didn't sound upset at all..

James spat a wad of blood at their feet. “Come on then.”

 

The first blow came from Ben. A sharp shoulder charge straight into James’ chest. The force, a magnificent display of raw male power, slammed James against the wall with a sickening thud. James gasped, air exploding from his lungs. Comhraic was right behind, burying his fist into James' midsection with surgical precision—two, three, four times. Each strike was deep, punishing, designed for only one purpose, to harm. To main. To destroy. James grunted, teeth gritted, blood bubbling from his lips. The pain would vibrate around his core and up his body, for there was little he could do about it. Little, but not nothing. Fueled with rage, a desire near lust for vengeance, James swung wildly, catching Ben in the cheek. The skin split open, a small red line forming. Ben wiped it with the back of his hand. He looked, he pondered, he smiled. Then he laughed.

“Cute bro, You’re dead.”

He grabbed James by the throat and slammed him to the pavement. His head bounced off the wet concrete with a hollow crack. What wits he had about him were now gone and dead. Dazed, James barely saw Comhraic’s boot coming. No remorse, no mercy, no empathy, it caught James under the ribs, the pain so great he rolled over to try and save... something. But the abuse would not stop. Comhraic would simply switch sides so his steel tip boot could find it's mark. When it did, James' core would explode in pain. The burst drove James to the point of blacking out. But the peace of unconsciousness would not come. For the pain? It would come again. Then it would happen again. And again. And again. James curled, coughing blood, his insides screaming. This wasn't a fight anymore, not even the fake pretense of it still held, no it was a slaughter. Ben knelt beside him, grabbed a handful of James' blood and sweat soaked hair, and slammed his forehead into the pavement.

Crack.

Again.

Crack.

Again.

CRACK.

The ground was painted red. James was still breathing. Somehow. But it was not a blessing. Comhraic crouched, pulling James up by the collar. Comhraic would ask if James was still in there, still a soul in the body, the tone everything but actually concerned. In response, James wheezed. No words. Just defiance. For his trouble, Comhraic drove a fist into James' stomach, so hard his body convulsed. Vomit mixed with blood spilled from James' lips. He choked, twitched, and spasmed, but sweet release would not come. He vomited again, hard. He vomited on the floor, on himself and the man who had caused so much harm. Annoyed with the mess on him, Comhraic tore the shirt from James' body, using it to clean himself. Moments later, he discarded his own shirt in disgust. As such was being done, Ben stepped in. There was no rest for the ones in debt, and no mercy either. A vicious uppercut sent James sprawling into the wall, his head snapping back with a disfiguring, disturbing smack. He slid down, legs splayed, breathing ragged.

“If only you paid up bro, you would be so good right now. But maybe you like this, yeah?” Ben teased.

James blinked slowly, or at least tried. One eye refused to open. The other performed something that might have been a blink. Blood poured from his nose, his mouth, his ears. He tried to lift his arm. His body was now openly betraying him.

“He's good,” Comhraic mocked. “Which is good, cause we’re not done.”

 

Ben smiled, now peeling off his shirt to show the fit muscled build underneath. Covered in sweat and filth, he tossed it to the side, no longer needed. Comhraic smiled back, now it was time to let the wild man out. Fun times! They grabbed James, one on each side, and held him up like a ragdoll. As toned and built as James was, he would not be able to over power two men, even if it was at full power. Now, Ben punched him in the gut. Then Comhraic punched him in the gut. Again. And again. A dance of one man punching then the other played out like a sick stage show, with the only audience member also being the only one beaten....

Bam...

Thud...

Bam...

Grunt...

Groan... 

Ughhahhjhhjsakhdkjsa....... 

Jame's body wavered, clearly a out of body experience was about to happen, but new sharp pain would snap him back. A double hit, not one after the other, but two fists at once. James jerked like a puppet on cut strings. His body was broken, insides turned to jelly. But still, he would hold back the screams of pain, he would fight it! He would not give them satisfaction!

That would come after the next punch....

Ben buried his fist so deep into James' midsection that it felt like he’d reached organs. Maybe even the spine if such a thing was possible. James screamed, a hoarse, blood-choked howl that echoed up and down the rooms and halls of the abandoned building. Had one not know the sick display unfolding, they would have sworn a wild animal had just died. Yet finally, finally a possible mercy, James' eyes rolled back.

The duo let go.

James dropped like a corpse, face-first into a puddle stained with blood and bile. No twitch. No breath. Just silence. 

Ben nudged him with a boot. “Yo, little bro here done?”

Comhraic stared down, wiping his bloodied knuckles with a soaked, tattered remains of James' shirt.

“Even if he wakes up, he isn't going anywhere.” Comhraic joked. "Come on let's go. I'm hungry"

The two walked off into the night, leaving behind a motionless body in the red-soaked dirty room in some abandoned building. As they left, the rain began to fall. Maybe that would wash away some of the carnage they’d left behind.

 

---

 

He would woke up choking. He being James that is.

Water mixed with blood filled his mouth, and for a split second, James thought he was drowning. He rolled onto his side, hacking violently, pain screaming from every corner of his body. Even his soul cried out in pain. But he was alive? His midsection throbbed like a collapsed lung, and every breath felt like Comhraic being poured down his throat. Alive, yes. But only barely. His fingers trembled as he pushed himself up from the rain? slick concrete. Yes it was raining out and now leaking into the building. As he tried to move again, his ribs cracked and groaned. "Something they should not normally do", he thought. Dried blood clung to his skin like a second Hellraiser inspired layer. One of his eyes refused to open. His.... shit... his everything really was a knot of bruised meat and ruptured nerves.

Still… he moved. He had too.

Stumbling forward, moving quickly like the devil was on his back, James crashed against a dumpster. Not only was he to loud for his own good, but he smeared blood all along it as he dragged himself down some alley. It wasn't pretty, and it wouldn't be for a very long time, but he had to keep going. His thoughts, at least the ones he could summon, was focused on only one thing. No three things! Escape. Survival. Living. Maybe he could find a hospital? A urgent care? Hell even a payphone would work! In his singular focus, he had failed to notice he was no longer alone.... A voice would come to help with that.

“Well shit, he’s still breathing? And moving! Bro begging for some more!”

James froze. That voice hit him harder than any punch. James turned his head, eyes wide with fear and saw them both. By sick fate, or a universe hell bent on replaying the same cruel joke over and over, he was now faced with his attackers again. They were standing at the end of the alley like shadows out of a nightmare. They even had some blood, his blood, still fresh on their bodies.

“I'm sorry, wtf? Didn’t we already finish this?” Ben asked, cracking his knuckles, chuckling. “I must have missed the email bro.”

James turned to run. His legs said no. He stumbled, and fell face-first into the cold pavement. Before he could rise, hands were on him. Comhraic yanked him up by the shoulder and drove a knee straight into his gut. It would seem the dark dance would begin again.

WHUMP.

James gagged, folding over instantly. Then Ben was there, with yet another gut punch. Then another. Then another. They hammered his midsection like a speed bag, each strike sinking deep, turning flesh to pulp. They wanted to cause pain on top of pain, and no force this city could (or would) produce would stop them. James, he really did try, he tried to scream, but nothing came out, save for his own blood. Comhraic grabbed him around the waist, forcing the already defeated man to rise and stand. He lifted him just enough, and slammed his fists into James’ stomach. No rhyme, no pattern, no stance or form, just one punch after another, brutal piston-like blows that sent shock waves through James' whole body. His abdomen convulsed. Blood poured from his mouth.

Ben stepped in beside him, clearly not ready to be done, clearly wanting more and more of the action.

“I got the left side bro!” he said, grinning.

They started taking turns. Left. Right. Left. Right. Body blow, body blow, ribs assault, liver shot, chest pounded, chin blasted, all came over and over. Each punch landed with a sickening, thud. Thunder crashed with each hit, while the rain did nothing to slow his destruction. Each hit, each blow, each one dug deeper, until James’ midsection felt like it was folding in on itself. His legs buckled, his arms flailed, useless. His entire body spasmed under the merciless assault.

But. They. Kept. Going.

Comhraic’s knuckles were stained crimson, a testament to his greatness, a trophy to pride over later. His punches would produce a sicking thud with each hit, then a soft slap, then simply sink in. Ben's body was painted red, hiding even body hair. His punches would cut deep, not interested in softening up muscle, but making James bleed.

Then, one final, coordinated blow...both of them, at once.

Double gut punch. It was a bomb going off in his core. 

It all happened in a moment, so quick one could have blinked and missed it. James’ body jolted, blood exploded from his mouth in a red arc. James gasped once. James twitched once. Then James collapsed. This time, he didn’t get back up. Ben stood over the shattered heap that had once had been a man, shaking out his sore fists.

“You think our boy is finally done now?” he muttered. “I still want tacos.”

Comhraic crouched down, shrugged and then smiled. He had a great idea... one even better than tacos.

 

---

 

Darkness again.

The wonderful darkness of no pain, no fights, no Comhraic or Ben, just peace. James didn't want to leave when life slowly called him back. He wanted to be here, embraced by this black for all time. He would give anything, no price was to high, he would....

James woke to the creak of chains and the overwhelming stench of mildew, sweat, blood and something else. Tacos? Where they seriously hitting up Taco Bell while every inch of his body was screaming in agony? His eyes fluttered, trying to channel his new found rage, but only to open to a single dangling bulb swinging above him, casting shadows that crawled like insects across the concrete walls.

Shit... He was hanging.

Suspended by his wrists, bound tight with rusted chains from a beam above. His feet dangled inches off the floor. Dried blood clung to his face and chest, and new blood dripped steadily from split skin, forming a dark puddle beneath him. His anger evaporated, no longer could James channel it, do anything with it. Why couldn't he just stay in the darkness, embraced by death, embraced by...

That’s when he heard footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Two sets.

Out of the gloom that was his constant nightmare, came Comhraic. Calm. Focused. Unmoved. Behind him, Ben, grinning and fists taped, like he was walking into a casual gym session. They both continued to wear no shirt, both clearly ready for a "intense work out".

James' heart sank. His breath hitched. This couldn't be happening again!

"Welcome back, champ," Ben said, cracking his neck. "You had us soooooo worried!"

Comhraic circled James slowly, examining him like a sculptor checking his work. So many bruises already, so much muscle tenderized, so much blood already lost. Yet more could always be done? Right?

James coughed, blood dripping from his lips. “Why…”

Comhraic leaned in, voice cold and quiet. “Because we can.”

 

 

Ben didn’t wait, he had never really been one to chit chat. His fist sank into James' stomach, deep and devastating. James jolted in the chains, a hoarse scream ripping out of him. The chains groaned in protest with the impact, but wouldn't break. Ben worked James like a heavy bag, gut punches, liver shots, ribs crunching under fists like glass under boots. Each blow sent blood spraying from James' mouth. His stomach was a swollen, bruised mass of pain. Comhraic then joined in, driving sharp jabs under the ribs, hooks dead-center shots to the solar plexus, uppercuts striking with diabolical cruelty. 

James sagged more with each hit, gasping, twitching, drowning in pain. He would not make this out alive. He knew that now.

"You feel that?" Ben whispered, nose-to-nose with him now. "That's your body begging to quit."

 

Then the air shifted.

A siren. Distant, but real..

Comhraic stiffened. Ben paused, bloodied knuckles frozen mid-air...

A second siren. Closer....

Then a voice—through a megaphone....

“We have the building surrounded! Step out with your hands up!”

 

James for his part did not believe the brief broken sounds that manage to beat the pain and make it to any level of understand. He was not this lucky, he would not be saved, he would die hanging here, no longer James but simply a meat punching bag.... 

Comhraic snarled. “Mother f- They called the cops?”

Ben shook his head. “Must’ve heard the screams from bitch boy here.”

Footsteps, this time running. Down the hall. Flashlights. Was James now in a fever dream? Was his body so broken, it could no longer see proper reality? Was life but a illusion to begin with?

Comhraic grabbed Ben by the shoulder. “We’re done here. Go.”

“But—”

“GO.”

They vanished into the shadows like ghosts, how and where, James would never be able to recall. Seconds later, two officers burst in, with guns drawn, but faces quickly twisting in horror as their lights landed on James, dangling like a broken marionette.

“Oh my god,” one of them whispered.

“Get EMTs now!” shouted the other.

James hung there, eyes barely open, blood dripping from his chin. He didn't know if this was real or not, but either way, the darkness would take him again. Hopefully this time he wouldn't wake up at all... or if he must, may it be in a better place.

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