Crimson Illusion

Crimson Illusion- Chapter 12- It all comes down to sanity

Rayne’s P.O.V.

 

Death was a simple enough concept to grasp. You just pass on. Your soul detaches from your body, and passes on. That’s it.

You are born, you live and you die. One way or another.

It’s the fear in the moment you’re about to die that’s complicated.

You first get the chilling feeling inside of you that’s telling you that you’re frozen on the spot. You can’t move, you can’t breathe and you can’t believe that something like this is happening to you.

After that comes the desire to fight which is, most of the time, quickly turned down because of the sight before you. That’s your own subconscious telling you not to be an idiot and risk it and to stay still and buy yourself a few moments to live.

And the last is when you start seeing things around you. for the first time in your life you actually see them as they are and you wish to try them, over and over and over again and you just want to do something, but you can’t because you know these are the last breaths you’re going to take.

I’m an assassin. A big, tough mean son of a bitch.

And yet here I am, wanting to hightail it for the hills.

It’s in situations like these that I wonder why in the hell do we even try. I mean, I could take on everything that was thrown at me until the Medusa’s poison shit started and now I feel like a fucking coward.

Though I don’t think that I’m the only one. that gave me some sort of relief.

Although it probably shouldn’t have because the Generals and Alexander that were frozen just as I was were probably my only ticket out of here with an intact body.

There were four witches in total. The speed racer that we followed here and three others.

One giant Native American that had black hair that was longer than mine by ten times and that looked like he breathed pain and torture. Despite the cold outside and in the house he was wearing a tank top that showed his impressive array of tattoos.

He took up one of the laz-y-boy’s in the room and looked like he’d need the other one the punk was sitting in just to feel comfortable.

Unlike him, there was a gentlemanly looking guy sitting cross-legged on the couch in a perfectly tailored suit and expensive Italian shoes. He had a black coat over the black suit and a red scarf that looked like it was just for show.

This bastard reminded me so much of Slick that I wanted to blow his head off right then and there, but for the fondness to my balls, I refrained. And I could’ve sworn that the fuckface knew what the hell I was thinking by the way his black-as-night eyes shone.

Next to the model was, lo and behold, someone that looked like he was straight out of a punk concert. Asshole looked too much alike to the punk we followed here and on closer inspection, I noticed that the two were twins.

Yipp-dee-fricken-do.

We landed in a freak convention and if these originals looked like this, I wondered what the more crazy ones looked like.

Probably like some rejects from the Supernatural costume creators.

“Well, are you going to speak or just stand there like dogs out of the rain?” Model raised one of his perfect fucking eyebrows.

“Dog jokes? Really? Do I look like I shift into a Golden Retriever to you?” and there goes my faith in Ruslan’s sanity.

“No, not really. You’re more of a Chihuahua in my opinion. Or a Maltese.” The Native American shrugged.