Rainy Days and Mondays Part 2

April 20, 2015:

Salvation doesn't turn out as well as it could.

A Derelict Church

Characters

NPCs: A preacher, his robed friends and some homeless mutants

Mentions:

Mood Music: Rainy Days and Mondays


Fade In…

Wanda takes the chalice. It is her hope for a normal life after all. And since all the other mutants looks so happy… She takes a sip and Lisa smiles warmly. The drink tastes of raspberry. Jesus’ blood tastes of raspberry? Wanda swallows that first sip and there is a woman’s voice in Wanda’s head – ‘Drink it all you stupid mutie’. She looks around for the cause but there is only Lisa. “Are you okay?” asks the blonde. Her voice the same as in Wanda’s head…but with all the sunshine gone and replaced by angry bitterness. The witch nods, moving to take another sip before sharp pains stab her guts. She cries out, doubling over in agony and dropping the goblet to the ground. It bounces on the stone floor, spilling the liquid everywhere before rolling along into the foot of a pew. Lisa turns towards the preacher. The other mutants are being led from the room down a staircase that has appeared in the floor of the church; hidden behind a block that is now slid to one side. “Preacher!” Lisa calls out as Wanda drops to her knees, dry retching as both her arms tightly hug her own belly.

The preacher gestures for the other robed figures to speed along the exit of the mutants. “Be at peace with the Lord” he assures them before moving quickly to Lisa. “What happened?” he asks, looking down on the now spasming body of Wanda.

“I don’t know. She only took a sip!” Lisa pleads, obviously thinking she may get in trouble here.

“It happens sometimes” the preacher grumbles before thinking a moment. “Shoot her. Free her of her curse” he half mocks before starting to turn.

“But I am free” replies Wanda with a rough, gravelly voice that sounds summoned from the pits of Hell. Her face slowly turns upwards. Sweat glistens over her pale skin. Her lips curled into a wicked smile full of threat. The witch’s eyes are now black abyssal pits. “You freed me” she laughs, floating upwards from her kneeling position. Higher and higher until she now hovers in front of the pair, peering down at them as she cracks her neck to one side and then to the other. “Let me thank you.” Scarlet mystical energy pours from her hands and enwraps Lisa. It burns her skin. Chunks of flesh turning into black ash before peeling back from the bone and floating into the air. The blonde does not even have time to scream before the agony silences her. Lisa’s body crumbling and collapsing into itself before all that is left is a pile of ash and bone on the paving stones.

The Preacher runs for the secret stairs, a few of his robed men still waiting…and staring at what just happened. “Shoot her down!” he screams before he suddenly realises that he is no longer moving. His legs still try to run but he is now three feet above the ground, flailing impotently at the magical force that holds him in place. Behind him Wanda glides forward through the air as the other figures draw weapons from under their robes. A flick of Wanda’s wrist and each gun explodes as the trigger is pulled. Hot shrapnel from the weapons piercing the flesh of the henchmen. One chunk slicing through the jugular and the man drops to the ground while his life blood squirts like a fountain from the gaping wound.

“What are you doing to the mutants?” asks Wanda as she circles the preacher, both of them hovering in the air. Her voice is now like two people speaking; one the Eastern European accented Wanda, the other the deep masculine bass of ancient power. She taps his sweating forehead lightly. “Tell me or I will look myself” she purrs, those black pits staring into his panicked eyes. “Fine…I warned you.” Wanda stops in the air, concentrating on the man in front of her. His breathing grows faster and faster as his body trembles and shakes. There is the sound of snapping bone that makes the preacher scream. His skull is starting to crack. Plates of shattered bone pushing up through the flesh and hair. A chunk of scalp and skull fly off, slamming into the church wall before slowly sliding down to the floor. His brain is exposed. The pink organ throbbing as Wanda probes. The veins on the surface start to pop and split, blood flowing freely as the man screams with the agony of the dying. And then his head explodes.

Wanda floats slowly to the floor; her clothes and flesh now spattered with blood and brain, while behind her more of the robed figures are emerging from the staircase. She closes her eyes, muttering softly. “You should not be here” she whispers to herself, her voice now back to normal. Pistols aim at the oblivious witch. “You should NOT be here!!!” she screams and a wave of scarlet energy blasts outward from her like a shockwave; a shockwave that incinerates the robed figures before they could fire. Wanda gasps for breath, reaching out for a pew to support herself. Her eyes flicker open once more, back to their normal blue…though with flickering scarlet as if they reflected a fire.

The church starts to shake; Wanda’s energy damaging more than just flesh. Stones fall from the walls and crash into and through the floor. The beams holding up the roof, already weak from age, crack and tumble down. Wanda looks around for the exit and starts for the door…only to stop and violently throw up the purple liquid. She is still retching when the church collapses upon her.

The violent collapse of a stone building is hard to miss hearing, even in New York. Persons peer through their curtains, where once a church was is now a pile of rubble hidden under a slowly descending cloud of dust. Emergency services are called and there are even a few hardy…or curious…souls venturing out into the street to take photos.

And then the church explodes.

At least that is what the witnesses who scramble for cover will tell the police. They saw the blast that sent stone and wood back into the sky; red ‘flames’ erupting upwards from the shattered building. None of them in their desperation to get indoors and out of harm’s way saw the figure that emerged from the gloom. The figure with flickering red eyes that strode out into the street, her clothes torn and shredded yet no wounds show beneath. She stops, turning her head towards the park in the distance. “Bobby and Zatanna” she whispers to herself, her eyes their normal blue once more, before she heads off towards her friends.

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